


Just Tell Me the Song and I'll Sing It

by myownspark



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, Baseball, First Kiss, Fluff and Angst, Inspired by Music, Karaoke, Lots of Music, M/M, Moments, Music, Pining, Romance, Romantic Gestures, Songfic, Sports, one brief homophobic slur
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-07-03
Updated: 2016-07-03
Packaged: 2018-07-19 19:44:08
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 39,920
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7374916
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/myownspark/pseuds/myownspark
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Louis is an architecture student who can only think about the future. Harry is a baseball player who can only think about right now. Both are lonely for different reasons. Boybands bring them together.</p><p>Or, this may just be a long love letter to Louis’ voice, I’m not sure.</p><p>Based on the following prompt: Harry and Louis are university students who go to the same bar on the weekends. The bar has karaoke and Louis likes to sing Disney/Musical/Boyband songs sometimes. Harry thinks he's cute so he starts singing Disney/Musical/Boyband songs and flirting with him while he's on stage.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Step One

**Author's Note:**

  * For [whyamimakingthis](https://archiveofourown.org/users/whyamimakingthis/gifts).



> A heartfelt thank you to my beta @gettingaphdinlarry. You worked on this fic as if it were your own, and you made it better in countless ways. I can’t tell you how much I appreciate every second you gave to me and to it. You are the best there is. xoxo
> 
> This fic is about a fictional pairing that attend a fictional university. There is a real Trackside Bar in Georgia; there is a real Bond Hall somewhere in Indiana. No resemblance to any real person or real university is intended.

#### Today’s Chatham Chatter!

A little bird told us that the pranksters who outfitted our beloved founder’s statue with a bikini and grass skirt last week is not the fraternity you’d suspect … it was, in fact, a certain mild mannered _sorority!_ It remains to be seen whether or not the playful pink polish can be safely removed from Mr. Chatham’s lovely bronze nails.

Is that on-again, off-again hot senior power couple off again? We thought that these two made amends a few weeks ago, but a source confirms that she witnessed this pair arguing heatedly mid-movie in the Chatham theater lobby last Friday. It is not confirmed whether the shockingly awful _Batman vs. Superman_ was the cause of this latest spat.

Get your Owl Athletic gear now at The Rock Bookstore’s spring sale. Baseball, golf, and lacrosse hoodies, t-shirts and shorts are 20% off; football, basketball, and other winter sports 30% off. Volleyball 70% off, due to large amounts of overstock.

Make your singing telegram reservations now! Once again the Chatham Crew team will be raising money by offering singing telegram service through the end of March. Is that a coxswain in your pocket or are you just happy to see me? Check their website for available times and rates.

 

#### Tuesday

Louis’ eyes are closed and he’s leaning back in his seat with his arms folded across his chest. This is his favorite part of Foundations of Music, when they listen to pieces and place them in history, and figure out why they are “relevant to the human cultural condition.” He’d had to fulfill his General Education – Arts requirement to stay on track with credits to graduate on time, and he’d jumped at the chance to take music rather than dance or theater. He loves to download the music syllabus week by week and listen to it, testing himself on composers and dynamics as he’s doing his laundry or making dinner.

This song is regal but mournful, and sounds holy, like something that would be sung in Westminster Abbey for some medieval queen and her court. He can hear the different voices better if his eyes are closed; he can pick out a bass, a baritone, a tenor, and a … what is that, a soprano? No, Professor Kenley had said all the singers were male. Must be a boy whose voice hasn’t changed yet. The notes blend seamlessly, overlapping with no instruments behind them, and although Louis doesn’t understand much of the Latin, he can pick out words like “Gloria” and “Alleluia.” It ends with a long, changing chord where the voices build to a powerful, gorgeous crescendo, then end abruptly. In the silence that follows Louis can hear the students shifting restlessly in their seats. He opens his eyes, ready to take notes.

Professor Kenley’s voice is loud, projecting to wake up the people in the back who fell asleep. “Alright. So that was an example of _vocal music,_ which is, of course, music made up of _voices_ , where _singing is the main focus of the piece_. That particular piece was a modern recording a five-hundred-year old _liturgical_ composition. Six voices, all men and boys, no instruments. Every culture has an example of this type of music, and we have extensions of it even today, where the harmonizing by multiple voices is the purpose. Someone give us an example.”

Louis thinks about it, but can’t immediately come up with music with no instruments. Maybe that part doesn’t matter. Wait – he’s got it. His hand shoots up.

“Louis.”

“Acapella groups like … Straight No Chaser. Or Pentatonix.”

“Perfect. Both are vocal groups with multiple voice parts represented, with no instruments. More examples.” The professor scans the room, and doesn’t find another hand among the sleepy group. Louis puts his hand up again.

“Yes, Mr. Styles.”

Wait, who? _Styles?_ Louis turns his head, along with the rest of the class, to the back of the room, where Harry “The Stinger” Styles is sitting alone with his hand up. Louis knew Harry Styles was in this class; athletes of his caliber are celebrities on campus, attracting attention wherever they go. But he hasn’t ever participated before, just kept quiet in the back. Louis has never heard his voice.

“Barbershop quartet,” Harry answers plainly. A statement, rather than a question, like he knows his answer is right. Louis watches him type into his laptop, not meeting anyone’s eyes. Huh. Good answer.

“Excellent example, with four distinct voice parts. Good. More.”

Louis feels the energy in the room shift; The Stinger’s answer seems to have woken everyone up. Louis’ hand is still in the air, and out of the corner of his eye he sees Harry’s go up again too. Seriously? The professor strolls across the front of the room searching in vain for more responders. He crosses his arms. “Yes, Louis?”

“Well, if we can count groups with instruments in the background, then maybe doo-wop groups. Like … The Temptations, or The Four Seasons. The Supremes.”

“Yes. Usually vocal groups don’t play their own instruments. Some do, but, with the voice being the main focus point, most vocal groups today have a backing band.”

Louis types these in a list on his laptop, adding notes like “can be a mixed group” and “instruments?”

“Harry.”

Louis stops typing. Let’s hear this answer.

“How about The Jackson Five? I’m pretty sure they all had different voice parts, at least at the beginning, didn’t they?”

In his mind’s eye Louis sees a blurry filmstrip of some variety show, the four Jacksons dancing in a line with a young Michael singing out in front, none of them playing instruments. What was that song? Oh, right: _ABC, easy as 123, simple as do, re, mi, ABC baby, you and me girl._ Now that he thinks about it Michael’s voice didn’t actually change all that much through his life. He looks back at Harry curiously, and is surprised to find him looking right back at Louis, connecting for just a second, before Louis slips his eyes away.

Professor Kenley nods slowly, considering. “Where Michael Jackson got his start. Definite emphasis on harmonies and varied vocal tones of the singers.” He pauses, raising his eyebrow. “Yes. Good.”

Louis’ hand is already in the air again.

“Come on, is this the HarryandLouis show? Somebody else chime in,” Kenley says. Louis stares straight ahead and bites his lip.

The girl sitting next to Louis raises her hand. The professor, relieved, points at her. “Thank you, Jess, what’ve you got?”

“What about The Beatles, do they count? Or the Rolling Stones? They were vocal groups, right?”

“What do you think?” Kenley throws it out to the class with his palms up. “Remember, we’re talking about the harmonizing of multiple voices being the priority.”

Louis turns around to read the class’s reaction, and his eyes skip to Harry. He is momentarily distracted by the bulk of Harry’s shoulders and his long arms draped over the desk, but his face says, _what do you think? I don’t think so. Not sure. No._ Louis can read his expression, like they are asking and answering without words.

A boy sitting next to Jess pipes up. “Nah. They could sing, but … the instruments were just as important as the voices. They’re more like … bands.”

Kenley nods. “It’s a worthwhile distinction, Ryan.” Jess makes a face.

With that, Louis puts his hand up again.

“Louis?”

“Boybands. The Backstreet Boys, NSync, New Kids on the … ” Louis trails off, because the class flares up with snickers and quiet giggling. Someone on the other side of the room groans.

“He’s right,” The Stinger’s voice rises over the chatter. “They’re a really good example of vocal groups.”

“Why is that, Harry?” asks Kenley, holding his arms out in a quieting gesture.

Everyone is legitimately awake now, whispering to each other, craning their necks to look at Harry, as if he is some elusive animal that has just slipped its camouflage and stepped out into the sun.

“Boybands always have like, four or five members, with different voice parts. There’s always one who sings high, someone’s always low … ”

“Tenors and basses,” Louis suggests, nodding, and turns his body to Harry.

“Right, and … baritones? And there’s always someone with a really high falsetto, like Justin Timberlake, right? And they don’t play instruments, usually.” Harry is looking at Louis, instead of at the professor, and offers him a little smile. Louis finds himself smiling back, then pushing up the frame of his glasses.

“Oh please,” someone says. “Boybands? Seriously?”

“Professor,” Harry begins, “if you can find a song, we can show them what we’re talking about.”

Wait, _we_?

The professor leans over his computer. “Alright … what’ll it be?”

Harry is looking at Louis expectantly, shrugging his shoulders, and Louis sifts through titles, trying to pick out one with a distinct range of voices and prominent harmonies. Maybe “I Want It That Way?” or, actually, anything by The Backstreet Boys because, really. But wait, no – there’s one that he’s been listening to lately with harmonies that are absolutely sick.

“‘End of the Road.’ Boyz II Men,” Louis says. Yep. That’s it. Louis waits for Harry’s reaction, and is relieved when Harry nods at him with not only his head but his shoulders too, tapping his hand lightly against his desk. _Who is this kid?_

As the rest of the class is muttering in confusion, the first gentle waltzy strains of the song play over the speakers. “Ooooh,” a few girls sigh in recognition. Louis chews the inside of his cheek and stares at his desk. This song is a special one to him, and he kind of wants to protect it; it’s precious, and he hopes the others will hear what he does in it.

The voices lift and weave through each other in the excellent acoustics of their classroom, sounding even better than it ever has through his earbuds. Damn, vocals to die for. Like the piece at the beginning of class, Louis can pick out each part, from the highest falsetto runs to the lowest bass voice that isn’t even singing words, just making a rich, bass guitar “dum dum dum” sound underneath the others.

After the first chorus most of the girls in the room are swaying in their seats, and some of the boys are nodding along with the rhythm. Louis has to sing along, just a few bars, because it feels good to have his voice blend with theirs. “ … still I can’t let you go. It’s unnatural, you belong to me, I belong to you.” He can’t resist turning back to Harry, who looks up at the same time. Was he singing too?

The professor lowers the volume gradually. “So, did they make their case?”

“Yes!” various voices reply.

“Turn it back up!” Ryan shouts.

They listen to the song through to the end, where the instruments fall away so the last chorus is acapella. Just like the song from five hundred years ago, the voices hold each other up, soaring up to an intricately shifting chord that intensifies and ends abruptly. When it’s over, the students are sitting up in their seats, wide-eyed, some with their hands up.

A guy next to the window mentions gospel music sung by choirs, and Jess suggests The Jonas Brothers, which starts a minor riot. But Louis types these suggestions without really seeing the words, because he thinks he can still feel Harry’s eyes on him.

Did that just happen?

Did he just team up with the most famous college baseball player in the country?

== ♫ ==

Harry figures that if he can just keep Louis talking, then maybe they’ll keep walking too, and eventually end up sitting across from each other in the dining hall, having lunch together. It’s worth a shot anyway, just down the quad a little further. It’s noon, and there will be a huge crowd there, but maybe they can find a quiet corner where they can stretch out and relax a little, take their time.

There’s only one problem, which is that Louis might have other plans; he keeps looking at his watch and checking his phone. But there is no boyfriend to speak of, Harry is pretty sure of that. There had been that cute, long-haired guy with the violin case that Harry would always see Louis around campus with last year, up until just before Christmas break, but Harry hasn’t seen him for months now.

Harry couldn’t believe his luck when he walked into Music that first day in January and saw his crush in the front row, and he’s been biding his time since then, waiting until he actually had something intelligent to say, something that would impress Louis, and today it finally happened. So he’s got to capitalize. Now.

“Did you know Jackie Jackson actually wanted to be a baseball player?” Harry asks.

“No, seriously?”

“Yeah, he actually got drafted by the Chicago White Sox. But then Motown signed the Jackson Five and that was it.”

“Oh my God, that would’ve changed everything.” Louis says.

Harry likes the feeling of telling Louis something new, watching his face change. Keep walking, keep walking. Louis looks at his watch again, but the entrance to the dining hall is just up ahead.

“How do you know so much about music? I mean, you don’t seem like … you would … ” Louis looks over at him, gesturing somewhere near his chest.

“Um,” Harry chuckles. “Thanks? I think?”

“No, no, that didn’t come out right.” Louis makes a move to touch Harry on the arm but pulls back at the last second. He pushes his glasses up instead. Okay. “I meant, you never said anything in class, ever. I hardly even knew you were back there. And then all of a sudden today, you … come out with all of those answers. I think you shocked everybody, honestly.”

The HarryandLouis Show, Harry recalls with a smile. “Well, I didn’t have much to say about the theory part, you know, all the definitions and stuff.” They are taking the stone steps up to the main entrance of the dining hall, and Harry takes the last ones two at a time so he can get the door for Louis. “And mostly I’d rather just listen. But today, I don’t know, I guess I just couldn’t keep my mouth shut.”

They get into the line, Louis in front. Harry can feel many sets of eyes on him, and one guy comes up and offers him a fist bump. Harry’s never seen him before, but raises his hand up anyway, and gives him a “Hey,” before turning back to Louis, who watches the stranger go.

“So what do you listen to?” Louis asks.

“Oh, a little bit of everything. My dad played in the minors when I was little, so we traveled a lot during the summers, in the car? He loved all of it. Metal, new wave, grunge … if it was good, he listened to it. So I have a pretty … diverse music collection?” He remembers his Dad singing along to Prince on the drive to the stadium, or Pearl Jam while he worked out. Harry’s got them both in his iPod, along with a little bit of Metallica, The Beach Boys, Drake, Madonna, and Troye Sivan. “Sometimes the guys ask me to do the warm up music at practice. They’ll get Queen one day, Beyoncé another day, you know. How about you?”

They swipe their cards and pick up trays. Harry tries to play calm, like he’s not about to sit down across from his crush, but being so close to Louis, close enough to see his eyelashes behind his glasses and the stubble on his chin is exceptionally distracting. His hands are sweating, and when Louis spins around to him suddenly, he almost drops his flatware. Smooth, Styles.

“No way! I’m kind of the in-house DJ at the Architecture Studio. People keep really odd hours there, you know? And sometimes they need a change of scenery, like, something to get their brains moving in a different way? The other night we did Mumford and Sons with a little Billy Idol mixed in.”

From there they talk about David Bowie’s death and the merits of sandwiches and soup and over the cheesy turkey broccoli bake. Harry is ravenous, so he gets a salad too, and manages to bump Louis only once with his tray.

Then comes The Moment of Truth. They step out into the seating area, and Harry waits for Louis, to see whether he’ll make a move to lead them. Harry feels the familiar shift of faces turning toward him, but he looks out past them, for an empty table on the edge of the room.

“Okay, well, it was nice to … ” Louis begins, tipping his head and walking backwards away from Harry as if he’s going to go sit alone.

“Wait, there’s a table over here, this way,” Harry suggests, nodding to their right. He walks, not looking behind, hoping that Louis is following. He weaves through tables of people, most of whom catch glances of him and then look away, a few calling out “Hey, Stinger!” or “Dude, good game.” Harry can’t help but smile when he feels Louis on his heels, and when he gets to the table, he sits with his back to the room. He wants Louis to be the only thing he’ll see.

“Is this okay?” he asks, as Louis slides his tray onto the table and sits down.

“Yeah, this is good. I’m starving.” Louis looks at him, about to pick up his sandwich, when Harry hears a muffled ringtone.

“Oh, that’s me,” Louis says, and his hands seem a little clumsy when they slide the lockscreen open.

Harry takes a big bite of his sandwich and chews, watching Louis’ face fall. The phone goes back in Louis’ pocket, and he doesn’t look up.

“Are you waiting for a call or something?

“Shit, sorry,” Louis says. “I am. An e-mail, actually. Telling me whether I have a job in the fall. That wasn’t it.”

“Holy shit, Louis, that’s great. What kind of job?” Harry likes calling him Louis, likes saying his name out loud.

“It’s a design job at a firm in Austin. They’re doing really amazing, forward-thinking stuff there. Cutting edge materials, energy efficient housing, stuff like that.” Louis’ face turns wistful for a second, but then his lips press together tightly. After all the music talk, this topic seems to make Louis anxious.

“What are you worried about? You’ll get it for sure.”

Louis glances at his watch, and picks up his sandwich. “Oh, really? How do you know?”

“Because you’re really good at it. You got that award and all.” Whoops.

Louis’ head tilts. He’s chewing, but the edge of his mouth quirks up. “You know about my award?”

“Oh shit. Look, I’m not a stalker, okay? I just … I read the paper, you know, and … recognized your picture. So.” Holy shit, how completely embarrassing. He looks down at his plate, his sandwich suddenly looking messy and unappetizing. “Anyway. Of course those suits in Austin will want you to work for them. You’ll get it.”

“They said they’d let me know by the end of the week. The interview went really well, I think, but … we’ll see.”

A guy is approaching the table, too stilted to be just passing by. Harry prepares himself; he has a sense about these things. He doesn’t look at the stranger until he’s right up next to them, too close for him to ignore. “Good job, dude,” the guy says, giving Harry a clap on the shoulder as he goes.

“Thanks.” Harry mutters, his eyes returning to Louis. He takes a deep breath and smiles a little, hoping Louis can see an apology in it.

Again, Louis watches the stranger go. His eyes are wide and a little worried. “Is it always like this for you?” he asks.

“Like what?”

Louis voice goes low. “People … staring at you all the time? Strangers talking to you?”

“Um, yeah. I guess, most of the time. Sorry, it’s weird, isn’t it.” Shit. It had been the worst at the beginning, when things started to blow up with the media and everything, but it has actually settled down quite a bit. Now it’s mostly fans who just want to wish him well.

“Kind of? I can’t imagine what that must feel like, that … everybody _knows_ you.”

“Nobody knows me.” Harry shakes his head. That came out more harshly than he’d meant it. “I mean, Liam knows me. He’s my catcher. And the guys on the team, too. My best friend from home knows me. But that’s it. Most people just want to, I don’t know, get _near_ me or something? But they don’t really, um, like me? I guess?”

“That must be … really tough. I mean, with all the pressure you’re under, everybody watching … ”

Louis is looking at him with something like pity. Oh God. Harry swipes his hand in the air and looks down at his food. “No, it’s not ‘feel sorry for Harry day,’ I swear. I just meant that … yeah. It’s weird.” Harry takes a deep breath. “What’s also weird? And pretty, um, excellent? Is that you’ve asked me more questions about myself in twenty minutes than my last boyfriend did in three months.”

When Harry looks back up at Louis, he finds him pale and unblinking. Harry backpedals. “Not that you’re my boyfriend, or that you … would be my … ”

“No, don’t worry. I get it.” Louis offers him a small smile, then sneaks another glance at his watch. Uh-oh. Maybe this is making Louis uncomfortable enough that he wants to finish up and go. Harry needs to kick it into gear now, make up for being a completely socially stunted dumbass.

“Nice watch,” he offers. “Can I see?”

Louis is surprised, and offers his wrist across the table with a shrug. Harry looks closely at its gold rimmed face, then reaches out to hold it by the edges with his thumb and forefinger. “I didn’t think anybody wore watches anymore.” It’s heavy looking, with narrow Roman numerals and one of those windows that show the sun and the moon floating by behind the face.

“Oh, I have to wear mine,” Louis says.

“Really? How come?” Harry traces the gold frame gently, and then takes Louis’ hand and turns it slightly, so he can examine the gold buckle. He can feel Louis resist at first, then give. The smooth, delicate skin of the inside of his wrist is visible, and Harry takes a chance and moves to grasp the tail end of the strap.

Louis’ voice is a little shaky. “Feel weird without it. Have to know where I am, you know? How much … time I have … ” Harry pushes the strap under the leather loop and the frame, then tugs the strap off the pin. “ … before I … what are you doing?” Louis asks, pulling his hand into a fist, but the watch slips off his wrist and Harry cradles it in his hand.

“You don’t have to be anywhere for a while, do you?”

Louis’ eyes worry. “Well, I have to … my next class is Building Arts … at one-twenty? But I have to download and print my study packet before then, and I was going to … stop by the bookstore to get these special articles I need for my Preservation class.”

“Hmmm. Sounds serious.”

Louis rubs his naked wrist with his other hand and sighs heavily. “Well, it kind of is, isn’t it?”

The watch still holds Louis’ heat and Harry strokes his thumb over it. He can’t believe he’s got this little piece of Louis in his hand, and he’s not sure how long he should keep it. They exchange a curious look, then Harry smiles. “Maybe. How about I give it back if you tell me what you do for fun.”

Louis’ mouth drops open for just a second. His voice sounds stronger now. “I sing.”

“No way. Like, in a band or something?”

“No, just karaoke. It’s at Trackside on Thursday nights. They have a really good crowd there, you know? They know a lot about music and it’s like this … club of people that just … root for each other. It’s fun.” The smile that Louis gives him is bright but a little shy, and Harry feels himself melt.

“Aren’t you nervous? Singing in front of people?” Harry is trying to imagine what Louis’ singing voice might be like – wasn’t he singing a little in Music today, when End of the Road was on? His speaking voice is a little high, and has a brisk coolness to it. Harry would love to hear him sing.

“Nah. Why don’t you come? Do you have a game Thursday?”

“Nope,” he says. “Not ’til Saturday. But I have a curfew. And … I’m not supposed to drink.”

Louis’ eyebrows knot up. “Oh. Well, they do have Coke there.”

“Would I have to sing too?”

“Of course you have to sing.”

Harry decides right then he’ll do whatever he has to do to keep Louis smiling like he is, relaxed, but a little bit curious. He makes a gesture for Louis to give him his hand. When Louis does, Harry places his watch in it carefully. “I’ll go. And I’ll sing. But can you forget about what time it is, for now, and stay a little longer?”

Louis gestures at their plates. “Well, we’ve hardly eaten, so, yeah.”

Harry smiles, and they tuck into their food. This is just what he wanted, and he’s pleased when Louis puts his watch down on the table between them like a truce.

== ♫ ==

The apartment door opens and shuts with a slam, and suddenly Niall is three inches from Louis’ face.

“Dude. Spill.”

“Spill what?” Louis spins away from him and opens the freezer door. “Do you want pepperoni or veggie?”

“How can you ask me about pizza?” Niall slips off his backpack and throws it toward the kitchen chair without looking. “Who did you have lunch with today?”

Oh shit. Louis tries to swerve. “Hey, did you hear from The Sun-Times yet?” He takes the pepperoni box out of the freezer and walks it over to the stove, not meeting Niall’s eyes.

“Dammit, no I didn’t, and don’t change the subject. You had lunch with Stinger Styles, didn’t you. And you didn’t even text me. Okay one, how did that happen, two, what did he eat and three, are you going out again?”

“Put the journalism major away for a second, will you? Jesus.” Louis is surprised Niall isn’t thumbing notes into the memo app on his phone. He should have figured the news would get around, the way he kept catching people staring at Harry at lunch. “Poor guy can’t go anywhere without people watching him. And we didn’t ‘go out,’ it was lunch.” Louis turns on the oven and rips open the cardboard pizza box.

“Louis.” Niall snatches the box out of Louis’ hands and takes him by the shoulder. “You do realize that that ‘poor guy’ is the first openly gay baseball player in Division One. First and _only_. You do realize that that ‘poor guy’ had an article written about him in _Sports Illustrated_ last fall. He’s been featured on _SportsCenter_ , like, three times. Dude. That ‘poor guy’ is ‘The Stinger.’”

Of course Louis knows; well, he didn’t know about the _SportsCenter_ thing, but yeah. Thing is, the guy Louis ate lunch with wasn’t Harry Styles, or The Stinger. He was just … Harry. And right now Louis feels a pressing need to protect him. Or keep guard over their time together. Or something.

“Niall, Jesus, I know. He’s in Music with me and we … talked in class and well, just kept talking I guess.”

“Talking.” Niall takes a step back, stroking his chin. “Playing your cards close to the chest as always, Tommo.”

“What do you want me to say? We’re not engaged, not dating, not even interested. Nothing happened, nothing will.” Louis isn’t mad, it’s just the truth.

Niall makes a pouty face. “Well of course not, because we’re talking to broken-hearted Louis. I’ll-never-date-again Louis. I-guess-I’m-not-boyfriend-material-Louis.”

“Shut up.” Louis smirks and shakes his head.

“Well explain this then. Why were you two holding hands?”

Louis feels his face screw up. “What the hell? We weren’t … ” How would anybody get that idea? Oh wait. His watch. Heat rises up Louis’ neck when he remembers Harry’s calloused fingers turning his hand over and carefully unlatching the buckle. He looks down at it now, back safely on his wrist, and he sort of can’t believe it happened. When Harry’s hands had slipped it away he’d felt naked, in more ways than one, but then when Harry returned it, it felt like putting the watch back on would be a mistake. So they ate, sometimes with more conversation about their studies and their futures, and sometimes in silence. Somewhere between their debate about which album was David Bowie’s best and Harry’s story about his high school prom, Louis _did_ forget about the time. The place started to clear out and they cleaned up their trays and gathered their gear, saying they’d see each other Thursday, back at Music. Louis had ended up skidding into his seat in Building Arts just as the professor had started her lecture.

“He wasn’t holding my hand. He was taking off my watch.”

“How come?” Niall must see the pensive look on Louis’ face, because now he isn’t an investigative reporter digging for a scoop anymore. He’s back to being Louis’ roommate and best friend.

Louis thinks about it for a second, bending to place the pizza on the oven rack. He could tell. He could tell Niall that for a little while he wasn’t thinking two steps ahead. The thought makes him smile. That’s mine. Nobody else’s.

Louis turns to Niall, “He’s coming to karaoke Thursday. You can ask him.”

 

#### Thursday Night

Harry rubs his sweaty palms against his jeans. He’s had his bouts of nerves before, of course, but this is different. When it’s his game to pitch he’s nervous in a good way; he can’t wait to get out there and make something happen. This feeling is more like he’s not sure whether to run away or barf.

He sits with Liam in the crowded Trackside Bar, at a table for four against the wall. He surveys the place as his eyes adjust to the dim light. God, there are massive amounts of people here, only a few of whom seem to know or care who he is. That’s good, maybe word won’t get out that Harry Styles made a complete ass out of himself when he tried to woo a boy with a song. “Thanks for coming, Liam,” he says for probably the twelfth time.

Liam looks up from his phone, where he’s just finished tapping away a text message. “Hey, have I ever left you hanging?”

Literally, no, he hasn’t. As the first string catcher, Liam’s been calling Harry’s pitches for three years now, and they can pretty much read each other’s minds.

“Just remember curfew,” he says, “and we gotta watch film tomorrow before second practice.”

Harry nods and blows a big sigh out through his cheeks. “At lunch today Louis said he’d be here by nine,” he says, looking back past the tables to the entrance. “He doesn’t like to be late.” He spots Ryan and Jess from Music, and a few other familiar faces from campus. There are older people here too, sprinkled in among the students. But no Louis.

“Hey, you made it!”

Louis’ voice comes at him from a completely unexpected angle, up near the stage. He’s with another guy, a cute blond about Louis’ height. Shit.

“So this is my friend Niall. Niall, this is Harry, and … ”

“This is Liam, who I told you about. Liam, Louis and Niall,” Harry says, as everyone greets each other. Well, good. Just friends.

Niall offers to go up to the bar and get a round of drinks. “Can I get you guys a refill on your … eh, water?” He makes a face.

“Nah, we’re good,” Liam says. “Let’s get some food though. What’s the most expensive thing they’ve got? Harry’s buying.”

“Oh! I can help you with that,” Niall says, jabbing his finger at the menu. “Probably the ribs? But the burgers are really good, and if you like spicy food … ”

Harry shakes out his shoulders and faces Louis. “So, are you ready?”

“Yeah, we sign up over there,” Louis says, gesturing for Harry to follow him to the DJ’s table, where they find the laptop whose cover reads “Keep Calm and Sing On.”

“So … what are you in the mood for?” Louis asks. “It’s all here. Rock anthem? Ballad? R & B?”

Harry’s been rolling ideas around ever since Louis asked him to come, and there’s one song that would be absolutely perfect for tonight. But he’s not sure he can pull it off.

“I’m not telling,” Harry says. “First I have to see if they have it.” With Louis standing right here in front of him, he’s strangely calm. He’ll find the song, go sit with Liam and Niall and Louis and have some sliders and a few laughs, and they’ll sing. Then this smart, cute boy who’s got his arms crossed in mock frustration will be his boyfriend. Simple.

He tilts the laptop so Louis can’t see, then puts the title of the song in the search bar. When it comes up as a match, he can’t help but take a shaky breath. This is really happening. He types his name next to the song title, and hits “enter.” In a second a message comes up: “Your request has been submitted! Your number is 302.” No turning back now.

Harry clears the screen and shifts the laptop back over to Louis. “You’re gonna like this one,” Harry says.

“Oh jeez. It’s Billy Idol, isn’t it?”

“Better.”

“Let me get mine in here and then we’ll be set.”

“What are you going to pick?” Harry hopes it’s something sort of slow, where he’ll be able to really hear Louis’ voice.

“I think _you’re_ gonna like _this_ one,” Louis says, tapping away. “I’ve never done it before, but … it’ll be good.” He turns to the guy behind the counter, about their age with a black undercut and a little beard, who’s messing with some electrical cords. “Hey, Z?”

“Hey Lou, what’s up?”

Z, the DJ, also has both arms sleeved with tattoos, a nose ring, and a Batman t-shirt. _Lou?_ Fascinating.

“Hey, we have a curfew to make?” Louis jerks his thumb to point at Harry. “Harry’s got to be back in his room on campus at eleven. Can you make that happen?”

Z sizes Harry up with a pair of half-lidded eyes, then plugs the last of his cords in and turns the laptop around. “What’s your number?”

“Three-oh-two.”

“So your carriage is turning into a pumpkin at ten thirty, hmm?” Z asks as he searches, the bright reflection of the laptop screen lighting up his face in the dim. Harry can only stand there stupidly, feeling like a kid whose big brother is buying him a ticket for an R-rated movie.

But then Z’s expression changes, and he looks up at Harry with his eyebrows raised and a little grin. “You’re gonna sing this?”

“Yep.”

Z steals a glance at Louis, then holds his fist out for Harry to bump. “Solid. I’ll get you home, pumpkin.”

“Um, thanks,” Harry says, and they bump, heat rising in his cheeks.

With that, Z picks up the mic and begins his announcements, and Harry follows Louis through the crowd back their table. They find Niall and Liam hunched over a basket of popcorn, having an animated conversation about hot wings. Harry hears them debate the merits of Flamethrower, Prairie Fire, and Triple Atomic flavors, but he doesn’t join in; he realizes he’s too anxious to eat.

“Louis, what’s your number?” Harry asks. He wants to keep his eye out for Louis’ song too. One of them has to go first, and if Harry has to follow Louis, he might lose his nerve.

“One-nineteen. So, are you nervous?” Louis asks, sitting across the table, next to Niall.

“Nervous? Who me?” Harry smiles. “Nah. Piece of cake.” He holds out his hand flat in front of him, and everyone can see it trembling.

“Ooh, you’re shaking! Harry!” Louis laughs.

Liam claps him on the back. “It’s only your first time once, Stinger. Kiss your karaoke virginity goodbye.”

Harry laughs too, and wonders for a second how the hell he got here. He “performs” in front of huge crowds on the ball field, so what’s a little singing? It’s just a room full of drinking, flirting, music-loving college kids anyway. But also Louis, who is leaning in close, to make his voice heard over the bar noise.

“This crowd is really great, Harry, don’t worry. They’ll be nice to you.”

Harry’s only worried about the opinion of one person, and it’s the one whose eyes he’s looking into right now. Who’s he kidding? He knows exactly how he got here. He remembers every minute and would do it all again just the same.

The first singer is a girl with short red hair and lots of bracelets, who tackles Demi Lovato’s “Cool for the Summer.” Louis is right; the crowd is completely engaged from the start, even though her voice is uneven and she gets behind on some of the verse. People are standing, clapping, and with the encouragement she gets better as she goes, finding a great sounding growl that she puts on during the last chorus. She ends the song with a perfect note, and Z congratulates her on a job well done.

Louis spins around to Harry, still clapping, his eyes bright. “See? I told you.”

After that it’s a mix of old and new, guys and girls, all of whom get an enthusiastic response from the audience. There’s one guy who looks like a lumberjack, complete with plaid shirt, jeans, and longish beard, who does a spare, lovely rendition of Bruce Springsteen’s “I’m on Fire.” The crowd gives him a standing ovation. Then there’s the two middle-aged women that everyone goes wild for before they even start to sing, who hold hands through “Don’t Go Breaking My Heart.” Niall nods along, and before long Liam is joining in on the backup parts. All the while Harry keeps an eye on the screen that shows the upcoming numbers, and three-oh-two isn’t showing up. It’s alright. Watching Louis watch the singers is excellent; he listens with his whole body, leaning into the words and tilting his head with the turn of the melody. He wonders if Louis is going to look at him that way too, when it’s his turn. If he does, Harry thinks, he just might not be able to get through it.

Next is a mid-thirties brunette in a shimmery gold tank top, who sings U2’s “Beautiful Day.” Her voice is lower than it would seem to look at her, and it fills the song with strength and purpose in an unexpected way. People start to sing along by the second chorus, and her smile is stunning. A group of girls stand on their chairs when she’s done, and Z calls her “Princess.”

Liam nudges Harry on the arm. “Hey, isn’t that your number?”

Harry looks up at the screen and yes. Holy shit yes, his number is right there plain as day, rolling into the next slot at the bottom of the list. Two more songs and it will be his turn. He rolls his shoulders out of habit, the same way he loosens up on the mound. The crowd all around him suddenly seems like a wild mob out for blood.

“Louis. Louis!” He gives Louis’ elbow a pinch. When he turns, Harry nods up to the screen.

“Alright. There you go. You ready?”

Harry’s mouth is dry. His hands are tingly. Maybe he shouldn’t. Maybe this was a huge mistake. He’ll open his mouth and forget to look at the words, or he’ll fumble up the beat, or be blinded by the lights. Oh God. How did he get here again?

The next two songs go by in a blur. Adele’s “Rollin’ in the Deep,” is sung by a tall, thin guy with a mohawk, then an older woman who has a small following of fans who hold up signs for her sings “Landslide,” which is about how Harry’s nerves feel as she walks off the stage to hollers and applause.

All the boys clap for him as he leaves his chair. He hears a “Go Stinger!” and a whistle, which he recognizes as Liam’s. Harry can’t look at Louis, though he feels his eyes, everyone’s eyes, on him as he walks. The stage seems so far away, and it takes him forever to get there. The mic feels heavy in his hand, and he takes a big breath. Shit, the lights are brighter up here than he’d figured, and when he looks out to the audience, it takes him a second to find his table. But there they are, Liam still clapping, and Niall, who puts his fingers in his mouth to whistle. Then there’s Louis, who says something to Niall with a smile, then turns to the stage and scoots forward in his chair.

Shit.

The screen is off to his left, near Z, and the countdown is running. Nine, eight, seven … ok Styles. Breathe.

Three, two, one.

“Step by step, ooh baby, gonna get to you, girl! Step by step … rrrrrooooock!” The jaunty, eighties-sounding synth drum beat starts, along with the discoey violin. Harry keeps his eyes plastered on the screen, watching for the lyrics, because he can’t think – can’t do anything but sway a little, hold the mic up and remember to breathe.

“Step by step, ooh baby, really want ya in my world … hey girl, in your eyes, I see a picture of me all the time … ” Okay, he’s doing it. His voice is full in his throat and sounds decent over the music. He’d practiced a few times in the shower at home, and luckily it seems he’s on pitch. He looks down for a second, then gets brave and searches out his table again, for Louis.

“Ooh baby, you’re always … on my mind … and girl, I really think it’s just a matter … of time … ” Louis is singing along. Louis. Is singing. Along. “Step by step, ooh baby, gonna get to you girl … ” Louis is doing something – what is that? He’s gesturing in front of his face, pointing to his own mouth where he’s doing a huge fake smile. Oh. Smile! Okay, I can do that.

When Harry smiles his body relaxes, his shoulders dropping away from somewhere near his ears. He takes a step to the right, on the beat, and now the song just seems to flow. “Hey girl, can’t you see … I’ve got to have you all just for me, and girl, yes it’s true, no one else will ever do.” He’s got one eye on the screen, but he can keep looking out into the audience, where silhouettes of people are dancing and clapping with their arms overhead. He glances over to Z, who’s looking down at his computer monitor with a serious face, but nodding his head to the bounce of the beat.

Alright, here’s the best part, Harry thinks, turning back to the monitor. “Step one! We can have lots of fun. Step two! There’s so much we can do.” He can hear a few voices shouting out, “Step three!” Please, voice, please, and he stretches up to a squeak of a falsetto “It’s just you and me!” Some squeals and whistles sound over the music, and he continues. “Step four! I can give you more … Step five! Don’t you know that the time is right!”

He’s moving freely now that he’s through the hard part. He can just relax and repeat the chorus straight to Louis, who is clapping to the beat and nodding eagerly, singing along and bumping shoulders with Niall. Harry feels loose and easy in his body. He even throws in a little sliding dance move toward the end, something that the New Kids might do, and he hears another round of screams from the crowd.

The last chorus comes and the music begins its fade. “I want you! I need you! I want you in my world!” he sings, giving it all he’s got left. He’s out of breath and sweating a bit, but all in all he thinks he didn’t do too badly. Someone shouts out “Stinger!” during his last line. It’s Liam, cupping his hands around his mouth. “Alright Stinger! Whoo-hoo!” He claps and stands.

Z’s voice sounds over the applause. “Ladies and gentlemen, that was our rookie, Pumpkin, singing the New Kids on the Block classic. Let’s show him some love.”

Harry almost forgets to put the mic back in the stand as he leaves the stage with relief. Louis is on his feet, as well as Liam and Niall. But wait, Louis is walking toward him. What’s he doing? Harry puts his arms out as if for a hug, but quickly realizes that’s not what’s going on because Louis strides right past him, clapping him on the arm. “Awesome tune, great job!” he calls as he goes by.

Jesus, it’s Louis’ turn. The thought swims through Harry’s mind as he makes it back to the table on wobbly legs. People are still clapping for him as he plops into his chair, but all he can think is that he hadn’t even realized Louis’ number was right after his. Shit, now Louis must think he’s a self-centered asshole.

Louis is a natural, lifting the mic with ease and smiling over to Z who gives him a little wave. Harry hears a few people begin to call out “Lou! Lou!” Oh my God, they know him? Of course they do, he said this is what he does for fun, and … Jesus, he’s beautiful up there, smiling and flipping his hair as he watches the countdown. Harry’s heart is in his throat as he sees Louis nod and take a big breath.

“It’s tearin’ up my heart when I’m with you, and when we are apart, I feel it too … ” The simple keyboard chords hum under Louis’ voice. “And no matter what I do I feel the pain, with or without you … ”

Holy shit. It’s NSYNC.

The bumping drumbeat is infectious. Whole sections of the crowd get to their feet and begin to whoop for Louis, who is dipping a shoulder to the beat and ad-libbing a run before the first verse. That’s _Louis_ up there, Louis who Harry’s been pining over for months, who finally took notice of him, who had told him simply “I sing.” He looks … confident under the lights, no, _powerful_ , ready to kill this song.

Harry can’t breathe.

“Baby I don’t understand, just why we can’t be lovers. Things are getting out of hand, trying too much but baby we can win. Let it go. If you want me girl let me know.”

His voice. Oh shit, his voice is like … the peal of a ringing bell that’s warm and cold at the same time. It’s clear and strong, but hollow too, and clean, because Harry can hear exactly how the air passes crisply through the pipe. Harry has never heard anything like it. He gets to his feet, along with Niall and Liam.

“I can’t take it anymore! It’s tearin’ up my heart when I’m with you … ”

Liam leans in, elbowing Harry in the ribs. “Shit, he’s good.”

The chorus comes and it hits the crowd like a wave rolling over them, loud and full and irresistibly danceable, with Louis’ voice on top of it all, blending seamlessly with the backing vocals. Harry starts to sing along; he’s heard this song probably a hundred times, but somehow Louis is making it new, and Harry along with everyone else in the crowded karaoke bar is along for the ride. “And no matter what I do, I feel the pain, with or without you.”

Niall has begun some sort of throwback dance move that looks like a mixture between the robot and vogueing, which looks surprisingly good on him. Liam is clapping to the beat, stepping side to side with a little shoulder roll. The entire room, actually, is dancing, and Louis is up there in front, making it all happen. He moves too, smoothly, tipping his head or tossing his arm out for emphasis, but it is never enough to jar his bright, ringing voice. Harry can’t believe his skill.

“Baby don’t misunderstand just what I’m tryin’ to tell ya. In the corner of my mind,” Louis belts, “baby it feels like we’re running out of time. Let it go … ”

Harry pulls Liam in by the arm. “The way he moves … ” Harry begins in a loud voice, but can’t finish. What’s the word? Alluring? Enticing? No. _Seductive_.

Liam looks from Harry to the stage, then smiles and says into Harry’s ear, “I think you’re supposed to be listening to his _voice_.” Liam. Ever the voice of reason.

“Well there’s that too.”

Cool and bright. Tight, but full? Ugh, Harry gives up thinking and just loses himself in it, just as the music breaks down and leaves Louis to sing with just the drum behind him.

“Tearin’ up my heart and soul, we’re apart I feel it too … ”

The audience claps in unison to the beat, and the aisles are full of swaying, bumping bodies. Louis, quiet, careful Louis is bringing down the damn house and Harry’s heart swells almost to bursting. If he had a crush before, now it’s an all-out massacre. Harry’s a goner; Louis is slaying him with his voice. The beat pulses right through him, up through Harry’s legs, pumping through his heart and out through his hands. At that moment Louis glances right at him. Harry is at one end of a tunnel, everything else going dark, with Louis’ face shining on him from the other end. “ … And no matter what I do I feel the pain, with or without you.”

The chorus repeats one last time and the music fades, replaced by the ovation of the crowd. Harry claps along with them, watching Louis turn back into his old self as he puts the mic back in the stand.

“Let’s hear it for Lou, everybody! Tearin’ the place up!”

A low chorus of “Louuu, Louuu,” can be heard among the applause. It’s like witnessing Superman turn back into Clark Kent, who is now back at their table, fixing his hair and adjusting his glasses.

“Whew, just in time, huh?” Louis says to Harry as the noise settles, his face flushed and eyes glittery.

Harry shakes his head. “Louis, that was … ” Astounding? Mind blowing? Jeez, he doesn't want to sound like a total tool. “The way you sing is just … unbelievable!”

Niall gives Louis a fist bump across the table, and Liam chimes in with an “Excellent job, man.”

“Thanks.” Louis is catching his breath and the next singer, a middle aged man with a cowboy hat, nods at him as he brushes by on his way to the stage. “I didn’t know if people would like it, but … I guess … ” turns around with a smile to glance over the room.

“Louis, are you kidding? You slayed it! Everybody was going crazy! And they shouted for you at the end! You’re like, _famous_!” Harry can feel himself rambling, but it’s hard to stop. Louis is gorgeous and a little breathless, like he’s just finished a race, and Harry wants to hug him. He settles for giving him a playful smack on the arm.

Louis catches Harry’s eye for a second, and Harry thinks he can see something in it, a question, or fondness maybe, but then it hides away behind a shutter and Louis says, “Hey, it’s getting late.”

Harry can feel his face fall, just as Liam pokes him in the ribs. “Stinger, we gotta go.” Liam is already shuffling out from behind the table, saying his goodbyes to Niall.

“Okay well, thanks, and I … guess I’ll see you Tuesday, right?”

Louis is already sliding back into his seat. “Yeah. See you Tuesday.”

Harry can’t go. Liam is bumping him backward, but he plants his feet. There’s one more thing. “Hey Louis, we have a game Monday, I’m pitching. It’s at three. Do you want to come? I can leave tickets for you guys at the field.” The man on stage begins to sing about falling into a burning ring of fire.

“Three?” Louis says. He looks at Niall with a shrug, and Niall’s eyes light up. “Yeah, we’ll go!” Niall says, turning to Harry.

“Yeah?”

Louis looks like he’s just been roped into babysitting, but gives Harry a smile. “Um, yeah, sure. We’ll go.”

“Cool. Okay.” Harry racks his brain for something else to say, but Louis beats him to it.

“Hey, can you text me that you got in okay?”

What? “I’ll be safe, mom. Liam’s a good driver.”

“No, I mean that you made your curfew. Just want to make sure I didn’t get you in trouble.”

 _And it burns, burns burns, the ring of fire_. Harry smiles, letting Liam lead him away. “Okay. Will do.”

 

#### Saturday

**Here take a look at this:** [ **http://spoti.fi/1rsLDWt** ](http://spoti.fi/1rsLDWt)

**OMG Harry what IS THIS**

**I made it. My boyband favorites.**

**This. Is Incredible.**

**Ha! I know.**

**Holy shit there are like fifty songs here.**

**Do you like it?**

**Harry this is THE BEST THING! EVER!**

**Lmfao.**

**The Call! Bye Bye Bye! Holy shit COLOR. ME. BADD.**

**Good, I’m glad you like it.**

**It’s amazing, THANK YOU.**

**K CU tomorrow at Music**

**OMG BELL BIV DEVOE. POISON! WHAT?**

**An oldie but a goodie.**

**This is killing me I think I DIED. 98 Degrees?!**

**Did u see All 4 One is on there too.**

**Holy shit. I’m flipping out. And IT’S GONNA BE MAAAAAY!**

**Justin before he was JT.**

**Amazing, thank you so much. Going to listen to it right now.**

**CU Monday.**

**See you.**

Ten minutes later, the notification music on his phone makes Harry jump.

**!MENUDO! DIOS MIO! (How do you make an upside down “!”?**

**Ay caramba. No lo se. Pero es bueno, si?**

**Siiiiiiiii. Mucho Bueno! Gracias.**

**Nos vemos el lunes!**

**Adios, amigo.**


	2. Step Two

#### Today’s Chatham Chatter!

Friday night’s movie on West Quad will be “Deadpool.” Popcorn will be provided, and hot dogs, burgers, and beverages will be available for purchase. As always, costumes required for admittance. And mark your calendars now, next week’s movie will be “Avatar.”

Will there be a new regular singing at Trackside Bar? Word is this rookie made a world-series sized splash at karaoke last week. Go check it out this Thursday to see what this cannon fires up next.

Night owls, be warned: the provost has declared that anyone caught playing midnight golf will be subject to a fine and possible suspension of campus dining privileges. Keep your flashlights low, ladies and gentlemen, and we remind you that the quickest means of escape is through the twelfth hole fairway fence.

Chatham Crew still has many slots available for singing telegrams. Wide range of songs available, and any request will be considered. Add ukulele, triangle, or tambourine for a small extra fee. See their website for available times and rates.

 

#### Monday

“Beautiful, huh?” Niall points to his score sheet with his pencil.

“Jesus, Niall, how can you even read that?” The baseball game isn’t even halfway over, and Niall’s score sheet is filled with chicken scratch, Xs, arrows, and number and letter combinations that to Louis just look like hieroglyphics.

Niall looks down at it. “What? What’s wrong with it? It’s gorgeous.”

Louis laughs. “Okay, you go with that.” He checks his watch. Three thirty-five pm.

They are settled in about ten rows above the third base line, where they’ve got a good view of the infield. The crowd is spotty today, and there’s no one in the few rows in front of them so they can stretch out.

There is suddenly fast and furious action out on the field, and Louis puts his hand up to shade his eyes from the sun. “Wait, that wasn’t a double play, was it? Aw, damn.”

“Shit,” says Niall, “how do I put that on here? Well, that’s alright, we’re still three runs ahead.”

Those are outs two and three, and there is a chorus of disappointed _oooh_ s from the fans as the opposing team runs in. But Louis is excited, because that means Harry will be out on the mound again.

He watches as Harry jogs onto the field with the rest of the team, his glove tucked casually against his shoulder. The outfielders are sprinting by, and in the center of it all Harry climbs up the little hill and begins to dig his toes into the dirt in long lines. Harry’s legs are … a work of art. A picture flashes in Louis’ mind of those legs tangled with his, Louis’ hand running over the thickest part of the thigh, feeling the heat and heft of the muscle underneath the tight-fitting baseball pants. Louis clears his throat, and takes a gulp of his water. He shifts his focus away to the outfield, where players are stretching and settling into their spots. He tries to concentrate out there, or at the umpires who pace along the sidelines. But Harry’s agile, graceful movements on the mound keep drawing Louis’ gaze like a magnet.

“Okay, top of the fifth,” Niall says to himself, finding the right spot to start on his sheet. “Hey Tommo, I’m getting the hang of this.”

But Louis isn’t listening; coming up to bat is the player that hit a double in the second inning. Louis rubs his palms together because they are suddenly sweaty. The umpire gives the signal that everyone’s ready, and the inning begins.

The crowd goes quiet. Harry is right handed, so he faces the third base side before his pitch. He stands with his feet slightly apart, giving his shoulder a roll while he reads the signs from Liam. Over these first few innings, Louis has learned that this moment is the calm before the storm.

Harry uses his right leg as an anchor while the rest of him flies around it; Louis realizes he was wrong to assume that Harry gets all of his speed from his shoulders and arms. Now that he’s been watching for a while, it’s clear that his power is really all in his legs, and in the mechanics of the pitch. Harry lifts his left knee high to begin, to get some momentum, then uses it to heave himself forward like a catapult, all of the energy coming up through his legs and torso and out through the whipping blur of his arm. The ball fires out of his hand in a rope that goes so fast that the only way Louis can tell the ball went anywhere is by the satisfying _thwack_ of it hitting Liam’s glove. It’s a study in rhythm and balance, control and kinetic energy. It’s astounding every time.

“Whew, that one was ninety-four,” Niall remarks. There’s a little digital monitor that sits on the infield wall that flashes up the speed of each pitch. Harry’s numbers are anywhere from eighty-six to ninety-five. No wonder they call him The Stinger. That’s got to hurt. Niall must be thinking the same thing, because he asks, “Did you know Liam’s the one who came up with Harry’s nickname?”

“No, I thought some media guy gave him that?”

“Nope, Liam told me the other night. He said his hand stung so bad the first time he caught Harry he had to ice it for an hour after. Now he wears a padded glove underneath his catcher’s mitt.”

“I bet.” Another windup, another snap like a spring, and another strike goes flying by the batter, who turns away and steps back from the plate. Harry’s got his number this time. The batter is breaking, getting flustered, adjusting his batting glove and tapping his bat against his cleats to buy himself some time. Harry stares at Liam, reading signals. The crowd begins to clap and holler their encouragement.

“That’s it, Harry, just one more.” Louis finds himself balling up the tension in his hands. “C’mon, c’mon.”

The umpire gestures for the batter to get back in the batter’s box. In a few seconds he’s set, and Harry takes a final breath, shrugs his shoulders, and begins his windup.

Louis marvels at the motion; five innings in and it is still as taut and clean as it had been in the first. It’s like a gorgeous ballet. Or a graceful animal, striking quickly and powerfully at its prey. The ball smacks into Liam’s glove, throwing it backwards for a second, and the batter is out on just three fastballs.

The crowd roars as Harry turns his back to the plate, his eyes searching down to the dirt.

“Yes!” Louis growls, his hand rising in a victory fist. “God, he’s … incredible.”

“And he can sing, too,” Niall says matter-of-factly.

Louis takes a deep breath. Here we go.

“And good looking,” Niall continues. “Great hair. I mean, if you’re into the wavy, silky, stunning kind of … hair.”

Louis glares at him. “Are you sure the _Sun-Times_ hasn’t called yet? They’re missing out. You’re … relentless.”

“I know. They’ll call.” Niall shrugs as he fills in the square on the score sheet. “I’m just saying. He has many excellent qualities. A catch, if you will.”

“Oh right, I see,” Louis deadpans, looking back to the mound.

“Did you see what I did there?”

“Yes. Stop. There’s nothing happening here.” Really, where does Niall think he’s going with this? There’s no sense in having this discussion again. Louis hasn’t got time for a boyfriend. He’s got his exams and his senior project. Shit, if he really thinks about it, he shouldn’t even be here right now — he’s got his scale model and elevations done but he hasn’t even started the floor plans — but Harry had asked him to come and well, Harry came to karaoke, so Louis didn’t feel right saying no. Plus, he’s got plans: he is graduating in a couple of months, and moving, hopefully to Austin. And. No desire to go back there, to that place where your heart is out there in the open, in someone else’s hands. Louis spent some time there once, a long time actually, just last year. It was excellent while it lasted. Mostly. But four months ago it ended hard and mean, with Louis bearing the brunt of the hurt. No reason to reopen that wound. He’s sewed it up and packed it down, all healed up nicely, thank you.

The next batter is approaching the plate. He’s short and stocky and wields the bat like it’s weightless, whipping it around effortlessly in his practice swings. He gives the plate a tap with it, then holds it high over his shoulder and leans into his batting stance.

Harry’s face is relaxed and focused reading Liam’s signs. He nods, and the energy changes. His body arches into the windup, his graceful leg pulling up, then propels itself forward in a burst of power. The batter seems to be taken off guard, his swing starting after the ball has already smacked into Liam’s glove.

“What? Ninety-six?” Niall says, jotting something on his sheet. “Unreal.”

The next pitch is high and outside, and should have been a ball, but the batter swings through and the umpire calls a strike. Then the batter is able to make contact, but it’s a foul tip that dribbles off uselessly behind the third base line. It takes Harry just two more pitches to retire the batter, who is caught looking on strike three. He spins off the plate and gives his bat a frustrated toss into the grass, then looks back to Harry with something like dismay as the crowd cheers.

But Harry’s not looking at the batter, because he is looking right up into the third base side stands. With the glare of the sun and the distance, there isn’t any way Harry can see him specifically, but Louis raises his arms and claps.

Harry tucks his glove under his left arm, and takes a few steps around the mound while he waits for the next batter. He stops on the edge closest to third base and looks up.

Louis feels Niall looking from him to Harry and back, but Louis can’t move; Harry’s look is going straight down to Louis’ heart, making it pound, and for a second Louis doesn’t even breathe. Harry is holding his left arm up in front of him, fiddling with the wristband, tugging at it and running his fingers underneath, without taking his eyes from Louis.

This time Louis is sure. Harry can see him. Holy shit, what is he doing?

Harry gives his wristband one last tug and tap, looking at Louis curiously. Louis holds his hand up casually near his face and taps the face of his watch in answer. Louis can see Harry’s mouth curve up and the hint of his teeth before he turns back to the plate, the third batter approaching.

“Okay … ” Niall says. “Now don’t tell me that was nothing.”

Louis doesn’t look at him, but lets a happy sound escape from his mouth. It had all happened in about ten seconds, but yes, that was … something. A message. That was _hello_. That was _I’m glad you’re here_. That was _stay a little longer_.

The crowd noise lifts again, and Louis masks his excitement by joining in. Harry is about to retire the side without letting anyone on base, and the fans love him for it. They watch him shut the batter down pitch by unrelenting pitch, until the umpire calls the third strike and the crowd goes to their feet. The team sprints in from the field, clapping Harry on the back and butt as they pass him on their way to the dugout. Harry and Liam tap gloves as they meet, and Louis thinks they look like two warriors that have just made it through battle together.

It can’t be something, Louis thinks. I can’t let it be.

 

#### Wednesday

The theme music from “Baseball Tonight” makes Harry’s phone light up, and he slides it open. There’s a bump in his chest as he taps open the message. It’s from Louis.

**Hey good news! I got the job!**

**That’s great Louis! Congrats!**

**Yeah, thanks!**

**Hey let’s celebrate. Want to get a bite?**

Harry looks at his screen and rubs his chin, the possibilities jumping through his head. Pizza? Burgers? Steaks by the lake? No, it’ll be that little place downtown, the Italian one with the amazing bread. Louis can drink good wine for both of them, and they’ll try that tiramisu thing with the layered cake and custard.

If Louis would answer.

**Or if you’re busy tonight, we can go some other time?**

Harry bites his lip.

**Can’t tonight. Project due next week and I’m way behind.**

**Okay. Late night at Bond then?**

**Yep. See you tomorrow @ Music.**

Harry’s thumbs hover over the screen. Finally, he slowly types three letters.

**K. C u.**

He puts down the phone, already hatching a plan.

== ♫ ==

Two hours later, Design Quad is quiet, and the tall metal and stone sculptures on the grass make eerie shadows in the dusky light. Harry walks toward Bond Hall with his backpack over one shoulder and his earbuds in. His iPod shuffles to the Backstreet Boys, who start to sing about how their love is all they have to give. Fitting. Harry’s steps fall easily to the rhythm, humming to the music and smiling to himself. He can’t wait to see the look on Louis’ face when he surprises him.

The architecture building feels sacred, so different from the business buildings Harry spends most of his time in. This one has tall pillars and stately double doors; it’s the oldest building on campus, the landmark that appears on all the brochures. He takes the steps one at a time, quietly, like he’s going to church, and pulls his earbuds out and stuffs them in his pocket. The door is heavy.

Niall said go all the way to the back of the lobby, and the studio would be down the hallway to the left, but his eye catches on the glass display case against the wall. Inside it are trophies, medals, and award certificates. There he is, this year’s Vision Award winner Louis Tomlinson, in a color photo with lots of important looking people in suits. His face is serious, with a businesslike smile, but if Harry tries he can see the Louis he knows underneath, the Louis that smiles brightly and sings with his heart on his sleeve.

He steps toward the back hallway, his sneakers squeaking on the shiny floor as he goes. For some reason he feels like he should tiptoe, creep around quietly so no one sees him, but he can’t wait. He strides to the door marked “Senior Studio” and peeks his head in.

The room is huge, with a tall ceiling and large windows. It smells like a hardware store in here, like glue and wood shavings, plaster and paint. Down the center are three rows of large tables, each covered with model buildings in varying stages of construction. Around the edge of the room are special desks for drawing plans; some are backlit from underneath so they glow, but all are slanted and have large sheets of grid paper clipped to them, with markers and pencils littering the flat ledges at the top and bottom. Six or seven students are working diligently at their stations, and when Harry steps in, no one looks up.

He spots Louis, who is standing at one of the center tables with his back to the door. He’s staring at his building with his arms crossed and head tilted, as if he’s waiting for the structure to answer a particularly important question. Harry can see his earbud wires snaking down his neck, and the way his hair waves behind his ears; he has to resist reaching out to touch it as he gets close. He pushes his hands further down in his pockets as he slowly sidles up behind, and ends up casting a shadow that makes Louis turn around.

“Oh, uh, hey!” Louis pulls his earbuds out. “What are you doing here?”

Harry pulls him by the sleeve to the clean edge of his table. “Bringing you a celebration supper. Niall said you’ve been here since four. You have to eat, right?” Harry unzips his backpack and pulls out the bag from Rubio’s. “I got you the best sandwich in town. Let’s see, roast pork and provolone, broccoli rabe, cherry pepper relish, and this amazing garlic and rosemary mayo that’s kind of … heartbreaking? And the bread, it’s amazing. Sound good?” Harry places the bag down in front of him.

Louis’ face is a strange mask of confusion. “Yeah, but … you called Niall?”

Harry shrugs, realization dawning that maybe this was not the greatest of ideas. “Well, texted, yeah. You only get your first big job once. He told me how to find you.” Harry watches as Louis’ lips press together. “Oh, and I brought you this.” Harry reaches back into the bag and pulls out a small bottle of wine. “They said white would go with the sandwich better than red. So.” He holds the bottle out to Louis, who is looking from Harry to the table and back again.

“Wow, this was … really nice of you.”

The icy shell might be starting to melt. “Hope you have a corkscrew.”

“Oh,” Louis sighs, “there’s probably one around here somewhere … ” he says absently, brushing his palms against his thighs.

Harry follows Louis’ gaze to the model in front of them. It’s actually three finished buildings with curved facades that make a circle, with room for breezeways and gardens in between. Louis has already got sidewalks built in around the base, with little green bushes and trees for landscaping. He’s even got markings for parking spaces in the lot. Hmm. It looks close to done to Harry.

“So,” Harry begins, hoping to lighten the mood. “This is where the really smart people stay up all night building things, huh?”

Louis reaches into his model, and moves a little car from one spot to another, then steps back and crosses his arms. “Really smart people get sleep. Really stupid people stay up all night building things,” he says, chuckling under his breath.

“Bullshit. You’re one of the smartest people I’ve ever met.”

Louis looks up. When their eyes finally meet, Harry tries to read what he sees. Louis has the look of someone who has just woken up; he rubs his face and adjusts his glasses, then takes a glance at his watch. “You still have a while ’til curfew, right?”

“Yep, I have a couple hours yet.”

“Can you stay? I want to show you something.”

Right now, Louis could ask him to strip down bare-assed naked and dance on this table to “Hotline Bling” and he would do it. “Yeah, sure. I can stay.”

Louis’ face is changing; the wariness is falling away, and something that looks a like excitement is taking its place. He bends down and opens a drawer underneath the table, and begins to rifle through its contents: rulers, markers, X-Acto knives, tape. He doesn’t find what he’s looking for. “Hold on, I’ll be right back.”

Louis makes his way to the opposite row of tables, where he opens the first drawer and comes up empty. The third time’s a charm; the next drawer yields a Swiss Army Knife that Louis holds up happily. He jogs back and picks up the bottle and the Rubio’s bag from the table. “Come with me.”

Louis leads them out of the studio and they start down the hallway, in the opposite direction from where Harry came. They walk to the end of the hall and take a turn and go through a pair of double doors into another hall, where Louis finds a light switch to flip. This feels like a secret passage, forgotten, or hardly used. The floor is different here, hardwood instead of that shiny marble, and the light in here seems dimmer than the modern lighting in the rest of the building, like they haven’t replaced regular bulbs with fluorescents.

“This is the oldest part of the building, not a lot of traffic on this side,” Louis explains, his grin playful. “It’s not too much farther.” The bag crinkles in his hands as he points the way.

“I feel like I’m trespassing,” Harry whispers.

“Nah, you’re with me. And you don’t have to whisper. Come on. It’s through here.”

Louis pulls a set of keys from his back pocket. The doors here are old and wooden with old-fashioned iron doorknobs. Louis slips a key into the lock and turns it, then uses his body to push the door open. They step into a second lobby area, surrounded by winding stairwell banisters on all sides, reaching six stories up to a domed skylight. Dropping from wires hung near the dome is a cable, on which hangs a shiny silver sphere about the size of a bowling ball, suspended about two feet off the floor. It looks like a giant Christmas ornament, with a teardrop shape that comes to a point at the bottom.

Harry must be standing with his jaw dropped, because Louis laughs a little. “It’s a pendulum. A really old, amazing pendulum. We’ll set it up, then eat. Help me with these?”

The light is soft in here, but the stark décor makes Louis’ footsteps echo loudly as he walks toward the center of the room, where a decorative tiled circle is inlaid with compass points in the wooden floor. The pendulum hangs in its center, and tall wooden cylinders that remind Harry of knocked-down bowling pins lay on their sides all around it. Louis begins to scoop them up and place them upright.

“The pendulum doesn’t change direction, but it knocks the pegs down as the earth turns. Cool, huh?”

Harry stares in amazement for a moment, then quickly picks up two of the light wooden pins and sets them on end, on the little tile diamonds that mark the pattern around the circle of where they should go. “Oh my God, Louis, is this some, like, super top secret campus landmark?”

Louis just smiles.

“It is! That door was locked, Louis, you had a key! This _is_ a secret!” Harry reaches to get the last of the pins, and he sets them as Louis moves to the center of the circle.

“It’s supposed to be for senior Architecture, Design, and Art students only, and their guests.” Louis takes the ball in his hands and begins to step backward, keeping the cord taut. “But Engineering and Math have a habit of crashing.”

“God, Louis, I thought this was just a rumor. You know, like the swimming pool on the roof of the admin building.”

“Nope, it’s ours,” Louis says with a proud smile.

Ours. Harry’s heart thumps, a feeling that seems to happen with regularity lately, when he’s in the same room with Louis. It’s as if they are about to shoot a rocket to the moon, or set sail on a ship; a countdown is in order, because they are going somewhere, together, and Louis invited him.

“Ready?”

“Yeah. Let’s go,” Harry replies. “Three, two, one.”

Louis lets the ball slip out of his hands and it floats through the air in a long, graceful swing. It reaches the far side of the circle and slips back toward them silently. At both edges the pendulum slides between two of the upright pins, forward and back, forward and back, on its long cord. Harry could watch it for hours; it’s simple, rhythmic movement is mesmerizing, powerful in its simple beauty.

“Now we wait,” Louis says, sitting on the floor on the outside of the circle. Louis pulls out the sandwich and hands it to Harry. “God, that smells delicious. I’m starving.” He places the wine bottle in front of him, and pulls the corkscrew out of the army tool.

“Wait for what?”

“Wait for the earth to turn, so the pendulum knocks down a pin. Forty minutes or so?” Louis opens the wine bottle with some twists and pulls, brings it to his nose, and sniffs.

“Louis, this is incredible.” Harry says. He follows the cable up to the ceiling, where the light fades, making the first of the night’s stars visible through the skylight.

“Yeah, I know. This is incredible too,” he says, holding the bottle out to Harry with a smile. “Go ahead, I won’t tell.”

“You’re corrupting me,” Harry says. He sniffs, then takes a sip. The wine tastes complicated in his mouth, much more so than beer does. There are fruits and flowers on his tongue, and a bit of butter; he thinks that might be what Louis’ mouth would taste like, too. “Thank you,” he manages, handing the bottle back to Louis, who looks away quickly and clears his throat.

“So your parents must be really proud,” Harry says, unwrapping the sandwich and sliding it over to Louis. The smell of garlic and Italian herbs fills the air, and makes Harry’s mouth water. This is better than the restaurant. Here they are tucked in by themselves, their quiet voices echoing in this secret space. The walls seem to have been built just for this: a simple, private picnic complete with stars above and a storied, mystical clock keeping them company. Harry thinks it’s kind of magical.

“My mom, yeah. Talked to her today. She’s excited.” Louis takes a bite, and his eyes roll. “Oh my God. This is … insanely good,” he muffles.

“Isn’t it? The guys and I get them after wins. Which is like, a lot.”

“Here,” Louis offers, “have some.”

Harry takes a small bite, wanting to leave it for Louis. “So what happens now? I mean, are you moving to Austin right after graduation?”

Louis makes a groaning noise. “Not soon enough,” he says, with a frustrated look at the floor.

“Why are you in such a hurry?”

“I just want to get out of here, Harry. Start over somewhere else.” Louis picks at his shoelace, then looks up at the steadily swinging pendulum. He opens his mouth again like he’s going to say something more, but then shakes his head and looks away.

“Do you … really hate it here or something?” Harry asks, watching Louis take another sip of wine. His shoulders are slumped, and Harry wants to reach out to touch them, or hold Louis’ hand.

“It’s just a lot of … memories I guess. Everywhere I look. I can’t get away from them. Every place is a place we used to go, you know? Me and this guy I dated.”

The musician. Harry would see them together last semester in the dining hall, walking on the quad in front of the bookstore, or studying at the fountains. Whenever Harry would see Louis, he’d see the musician too. They were inseparable, it seemed, until just before Christmas break, and then … they weren’t.

“What happened?”

Louis takes a big breath and lets it out in a sigh. “Well, let’s see. How should I put it? He cheated, that’s what happened. That’s the simplest way to explain it, I guess.” Louis looks at Harry with a quirk of his lip. He looks young in the soft light of this big empty room, all alone and still hurt. He must have fallen hard, Harry thinks, if the bruise is still visible now. Harry watches him take a swig from the bottle.

“Thing is, he’s on semester abroad now, in Vienna. He’s not even _here_. But he’s still … everywhere, you know?” Louis swings his arm out at the room in in frustration.

Harry doesn’t know. He’s never felt like that about anyone, not nearly. He has no idea what it must be like to be haunted by someone, where you loved them so much that their fingerprints are all over you even after they’re gone. God, it’s a good thing this dude is in Vienna. Harry wants to throttle him for fucking up this badly, for being so careless with Louis. How could a person be so stupid? Louis is so smart, talented, creative and, Jesus, he’s gorgeous. He’s _everything_. Cheating, for fuck’s sake, and leaving him here like this? Harry studies him, drinking in the sad curve of his back and his angry sharp lines. No, Louis, don’t waste another minute. Harry has the fleeting impulse say something bold and romantic. It will be a declaration, perfect for this timeless place and Louis will see that he was meant for Harry all along.

“I’m sorry, but … he sounds like a colossal asshat.” This makes Louis shake his head with a little snort. “Seriously. A total ding-dong.” Harry smiles too, watching Louis’ face brighten. “A dumbnuts. A huge fucking _nitwit_.”

Louis laughs at that, and Harry joins in, their voices rising in the hollow space. “A nitwit. Really,” Louis says with a wide smile.

“Yes!” Harry says heartily. “I’m telling you. He’s a big bag of dumbass dicks.”

They laugh together for a minute, but it’s not enough. Harry sighs, getting quiet. “A fool, Louis.” His voice is serious now, low enough that Louis goes still to hear him. “He’s a fool.”

Louis heaves a heavy sigh. “Yeah. I guess. But. I still … ugh. It’s stupid.”

There should be something Harry can say that will take all the pain away, something that will free Louis from the hurt and just let him be. He takes a breath. “He’s not here now, though, is he? It’s just you and me.”

Louis turns to look at him, and offers a half-hearted smile. “And this sandwich,” he adds, pointing.

Harry slides it back over to Louis, who takes it eagerly. “You have two months to make some new memories, don’t you? Like this one?” The pendulum swings, and Harry looks up at the faraway ceiling with stars that seem to look back down on them. “This one’s pretty good.”

Louis hands Harry the bottle of wine. “It is good.”

The pendulum is calm and serene, just gliding back and forth on its path. Harry takes another drink, relishing the little burning sensation in his throat.

“What about you, though? I bet you can’t wait to get out of here either, huh? Getting drafted and all, playing in the majors?”

Harry swallows again, and passes the bottle back. “Louis, I’m not going to get drafted.”

“How can you not get drafted, Harry? Think about it. You’re the number one starter at Chatham. This school is like a direct pipeline to the major leagues.”

Harry shifts his crossed legs out straight in front of him, and stretches his arms back to rest on his hands. He’s already feeling a little tingle down his arms, and his head is light and loose on his shoulders. “C’mon, Louis, you know why.” Harry pauses while Louis chews. He smiles mischievously. “I’m not tall enough.”

“That’s stupid. You’re plenty tall. Tim Lincecum, Brandon Finnegan, Tim Collins, there’s plenty of major league pitchers under six feet. Next.” Louis waves his hand dismissively and takes another bite.

Okay, this is how we’re going to play it? Harry suppresses a little giggle. “Well, I … I don’t have a working changeup.”

“So what?” Louis says. “Your fastball is all you need. Ninety-six miles an hour. You fucking _stunned_ Virginia’s entire lineup the other day. You know they call you Stinger, right? Next.” He turns to Harry with an unimpressed shrug.

“Okay. My batting average is _pitiful_. _”_

“Pshhh. What do you think designated hitters are for? Name me one pitcher who’s batting average is worth a shit. Better yet, play for the American League. Problem solved. Next.”

Jesus, Louis is stubborn. Harry tries to chuckle, but it gets caught in his throat. Their little game is funny, but he can’t go on with it any longer. It’s too important. “Louis,” he begins quietly. “You know why I’m not going to get drafted.”

“Because you’re gay. Right. Whatever. But I’ve been thinking about this.” Louis is more animated now than Harry’s seen him all night. He turns to face Harry fully, his eyes wide. “Stats say what, six percent of the male population are some kind of gay, right? How many players in major league baseball?”

“Oh my God, Louis, I know all this already.” Harry shakes his head and crosses his arms over his chest. The ceiling is far away but he concentrates on it. The pinprick stars that decorated the circle of sky before must be covered by clouds; even though Harry squints, he can’t see them anymore.

“Shhh. Just a second. How many players in major league baseball? Hundreds, right?”

“Thirty teams in the league, twenty-five players active on each roster. So seven hundred and fifty.”

“So like … ” Louis hesitates. “Forty-five guys. Are gay, playing baseball, right now.” He says it triumphantly, like he’s just won Final Jeopardy.

“That’s one on every team, at least,” Harry agrees.

“So there.” Louis puts the last of the sandwich in his mouth.

“It’s not that simple.”

Louis doesn’t let the food get in the way of his argument. “It is, Harry. What’s hard about it? That doesn’t even count all the guys on the coaching staff. Or the management side. Or in the business offices, right? Or in the minors? How many more would that be, do you think?”

“Louis really, you don’t understand … how it … works.” Harry’s voice sounds small and a little bitter in this echoey room, where pendulum keeps swinging forward and back, moving them into a future Harry can’t see.

“What, exactly, am I not understanding?”

“Louis. One major league player has come out. _One_. And he waited until after he retired.”

“But you’re already out, Harry!” Louis’ hands fly up, and he looks at Harry as if he’s grown an extra head.

“I know! And it’s a distraction. Teams can’t afford to be distracted.” His voice is soft, like he’s trying to calm a lost child. Harry had resigned himself to this fact long ago, when he watched what happened to Michael Sam. That was football, but. Same rules apply.

Louis shakes his head and waves his arm around. “So they’re distracted for two weeks and then everybody will get the fuck over it! Jesus!”

Louis looks madder than a high-noon hornet, as Harry’s grandma used to say. He’s twitchy, flipping his hair, scowling. It’s fascinating to see levelheaded, always-composed Louis getting ruffled. It makes Harry smile. “You’re funny when you’re mad.”

Louis huffs. “Well, aren’t _you_ mad?”

“I don’t know, Louis, really, I … I don’t know what’s going to happen with all of that. If I get too wrapped up in it, I’ll … ” Harry leans back and lies down on the floor with his arm behind his head. He’s suddenly tired. From here the pendulum looks like it might fly right over him, but it always slows and stops near his feet before it turns back. “All I can do is just be here, now. Do my best while I can, you know? I have one year left, and then … I guess we’ll see.”

Louis doesn’t answer, and Harry doesn’t look at him. There is something unspoken in the air. Louis can’t wait to leave, and Harry wants to do nothing more than stay.

They pass the wine back and forth and settle into silence for a while, the echo of the argument fading. Louis lies down too, a few feet away. Harry can hear him breathing lightly. He watches the silver ball come closer and retreat, come closer and retreat. It’s lulling him to loosen his focus, and he feels his mind wander back to the hundred or so conversations he’s had about his future. The ones he’s had with his high school coach. The ones he’s had with his friends, his college coaches, and the media. The one he had with that scout who came to see him before he signed at Chatham, who told him he had a bright future ahead of him in the majors, until he met Harry’s boyfriend. Then there are the dozens he’s had with his dad. They are the tough ones, where they work out all the scenarios. On good days, when Harry has pitched well or he gets cool fan messages on Twitter, they end with optimism and excitement. On other days, when the world is crueler, they end with tears.

Closer, beat, retreat. Closer, beat, retreat.

Come closer, Louis, come closer.

“Look, Louis, it’s almost time.”

“Almost,” Louis agrees.

The pendulum is skimming by the pin that stands close to their feet. It won’t be long now. It’s exciting, but Harry feels like something will change after the pin falls. Their time will be up, the spell of this magical place will be broken and his carriage will turn into a pumpkin. Someday, he hopes, there will be a day where there will be no clocks, no classes, and no curfew pulling them apart.

He wasn’t sure he would tell Louis, but now he knows. He’s not sure if it’s the wine, or the steady drift of the big silver ball that’s making him brave. But he’s sure he can trust Louis with it. And if he’s going to tell him he’d better do it now, before that pin falls and everything changes.

“I do have this one dream.” Harry’s voice is quiet, but fills the room.

“Hmm?”

“Even though it probably won’t come true, I still wish … ugh, it’s stupid.” Harry covers his eyes with one hand. It sounds perfectly logical in his mind, but saying it out loud is a different story. Only his dad knows.

“What?”

“I um. Someday I want … ” Harry looks at Louis and shakes his head.

“Come on. Tell me.”

Harry sits up. “Okay. Someday I want to be pitching and … look out into the stands and see … kids wearing t-shirts with my number on them, you know?” He turns away, back to the pendulum. His nose tickles, and his throat feels thick. It must be the pendulum’s swing that is making him speak so slowly, deliberately. “I had a bunch of shirts. Andy Pettitte, John Smoltz. Randy Johnson. I really … ” he sniffs and wipes his nose with the back of his hand. “I really loved those guys, you know? I wanted to be _just like_ them. And maybe … if kids would want to wear _my_ number … ” He shrugs, brushing dust from his hands. “But.”

“Harry.”

Oh shit. Harry knows his face is probably red, and he doesn’t want to say any more. He feels Louis tug on his shirtsleeve. “Why shouldn’t they? They will.”

Harry finally looks at him, and offers a meager smile, to meet Louis’ confident one. “You sound like my dad,” he laughs, swiping at his eyes. God. Totally not the way Harry thought this night would go. But it couldn’t be better. Unless.

“Good.” Louis’ eyes shift to the pendulum. “Hey, look.”

The ball comes at them, its pointed tail barely grazing the top of the pin. It floats away and changes direction between two pins on the other side, then comes silently back. The pin wobbles gently as the pendulum taps it, but doesn’t fall.

“Next one,” Louis says. Harry is almost sad, and he holds his breath.

The pendulum hits the pin again, this time hard enough to send it tumbling over with a hollow thud. It rolls just a bit, then comes to a stop.

“It worked. It actually _worked_!”

“Pretty cool, huh?”

The pendulum swung, the earth turned, the pin fell. But something else has shifted, and Harry wonders if Louis can feel it too. It’s like waking up from a dream. But Harry wants to stay asleep, let the world spin, let it go on without them just a little while longer.

“Yes,” Harry says, sighing. “I guess the earth is still turning, huh?” The thought is absurdly disappointing.

“Yep. Always.” Louis checks his watch. “When do you need to go? It’s … ”

“Don’t tell me,” Harry interrupts. “I don’t want to know just yet.”

“Okay. We can stay, if you want.”

Yes. Let’s stay. We’ll stay right here. Harry feels miles away from where they started, and he still feels as if they have miles to go. He looks up to the faraway window to the sky. Stars show themselves again, in different spots than before. It doesn’t matter what time it is. It’s just right now, isn’t it? And Harry wants right now with Louis to last for days.

“One more pin,” Harry suggests. Please, Louis. Let’s stay.

Louis smiles that warm-bright smile. “Sure. One more pin.”

 

#### Thursday Night

Trackside is even more crowded than usual tonight. When Louis and Niall arrived they were able to get their normal table, not too far from the stage. Since then, the crowd had grown thicker and noisier, with people cobbling tables together and filling in with random chairs where there usually were none. Louis could chalk it up to people letting off steam because midterms are over, but Niall is sure it’s because of the mentions of Trackside and the barely veiled references to Stinger in the Chatham Chatter gossip column. (Which sucks, truly, Louis thinks, because shouldn’t Harry get to go wherever he wants to for fun, without getting hounded by fans? Shouldn’t he be able to have night out just goofing off, where people aren’t watching his every move and reporting back for entertainment? Fuck the gossip.) Whatever the reason, Niall, Louis, and Harry are smushed in close quarters, almost shoulder to shoulder; and Liam has to dodge and weave between people to make his way back from the DJ’s table.

“Alright,” Liam says dramatically, rubbing his hands together. “Prepare for your world to be _rocked_.”

Niall shifts to the side so Liam can slip through behind him. “Okay, um. Guns-N-Roses? No, wait. Bon Jovi. Or The Eagles! ‘Hotel California?’”

“Pssh, no.” Liam makes a face. “Try something from this century, my friend.”

“Chili Peppers,” Niall guesses. “Green Day?”

Liam shakes his head. “Nope, nope.”

“Nah. The Police! Or Aerosmith, maybe, ‘Walk This Way?’ Ohhh,” Niall smiles bright, “The Who! ‘Baba O’Riley!’”

Liam levels a disbelieving look at him. “Who even are you?”

Louis doesn’t know Liam very well yet, but he seems smart, and a little adventurous. He gives it a shot. “Beyoncé.”

That one makes Liam spin toward him, impressed. “Hey! I like the way you think! But no.”

Harry looks at Liam fondly. “You’re gonna bring the funk. Aren’t you.”

Liam just smiles. “Maybe.”

Niall is puzzled, and takes another gulp of his beer while he mulls it over.

“Liam’s actually a really good singer,” Harry continues. “He won this big talent show, in high school? Sang … ”

Liam smiles. “‘As Long as You Love Me.’ The Biebs. My friends dared me to, you know, ’cause I was shy, but I had a crush on this girl that was on the committee that ran the whole thing. They said she’d probably go out with me if she could hear me sing. So. I sang. I did the rap and everything. Won the show, and got the girl too.” Liam’s expression is sweet, rather than proud.

“Yeah, and he still sings it in the showers. If the guys aren’t too cranky.”

“The acoustics in there are insane. As long as you love me, we could be starving, we could be homeless, we could be broke.” Liam starts to sing and damn, Louis thinks, he does have some pipes. “As long as you love me, I’ll be your silver, I’ll be your platinum, I’ll be your gold.” Harry joins in, and Louis picks up at the end. “As long as you lo-lo-lo-lo-lo-lo-lo-lo-lo-lo-lo-lo-lo-lo-lo-lo-lo-lo-lo-lo-love me.” Liam goes way up into a falsetto harmony that sounds aching and pure, while Harry and Louis piece together the melody. Niall looks on, incredulous.

“Holy shit, Liam, you can sing. Why didn’t you do a song last time?” Louis asks when the chorus ends.

Liam shrugs, and Harry answers for him. “Still shy.”

“But I can’t watch everybody have fun and sit over here like a wallflower.”

“Yeah, now we just have to work on Niall here,” Harry says.

Niall shakes his head and hides behind his beer. “Nah. You don’t want to hear me sing. It’s like, appallingly bad. I’ll clear this place out so fast they’ll be gone before they got here.”

“I’ve been trying to get him to sing for months,” Louis says. “It’s beyond hope.”

“Oh yeah?” Harry looks at Niall coolly. “Well. I think you’re bluffing. Anybody who can dance like you do can sing, too.” Louis tries not to laugh as he watches Niall, who looks surprised — and a little charmed — to be called out. “Next time,” Harry says, waving his finger. Niall gives him a finger right back.

Ohh, all three of them respond loudly, and Harry laughs. “Ok, we’ll see, we’ll see.”

Louis looks up to the DJ table and sees that there isn’t a line. He taps Harry on the arm. “Hey Harry, we better go up and pick our songs.”

“Yeah, ok.” Harry’s eye travels from Louis’ hand to the table. “Be right back. Liam, don’t let Niall run away.”

Harry follows him as he weaves through the crowd. When they finally make it to the table, Harry greets Z with a wave.

“Pumpkin. Good to see you again.”

“Wouldn’t miss it,” Harry says, pulling the laptop closer. “Been thinking about songs all week.”

“Think you can top the last one? That was ballsy.” Z doesn’t wait for an answer, turning away to finalize the lighting.

Harry shrugs modestly, but then glances at Louis, pleased, and Louis notices the faint blush over his cheeks. “I don’t know. I’m gonna try.”

 “So what’s it gonna be tonight?”

 “I’m gonna stick with boybands,” Harry says as he types and scrolls. “They’ve been good to me.”

Harry doesn’t let him see the screen, so Louis looks around the bar. Many of the regulars are here, but he notices quite a few faces he’s never seen before. Most are college age, probably students; he wonders if what Niall said is true, that more people are here tonight just to see The Stinger. It seems possible, especially because Louis notices some people looking in his direction, well, at Harry, and pointing. Louis has the urge to stand between them and Harry, to shelter him, to protect him from their view. He moves subtly around Harry, pretending to look at a poster on Z’s wall about upcoming live music.

A few more screens and finally Harry focuses and bites his lip. “Okay, got it. Lucky number … Nah, I’m not telling.”

Louis doesn’t know why Harry keeping this secret would make him nervous, but it does; without knowing Harry’s number he won’t be able to watch for it, and … what, prepare? The thought is silly, and he brushes it away. He pulls the laptop in while Harry motions for Z to come over, to make sure he’ll be scheduled to make curfew.

By the time Louis makes his selection and commits the number to memory, Harry returns. “Ready?” he asks eagerly.

“Ready.”

“Okay. Let’s do this.”

Harry’s eyes shine; Louis wonders if this is how he looks in the dugout before a game, ready to take on the world. No wonder all these people are here to see him.

Yes, let’s, Louis thinks. Whatever this is. Let’s do it.

== ♫ ==

“Hey, they’re starting,” Liam says, and sure enough, Z is taking the mic and welcoming everyone.

“Glad you could all come out tonight. Big crowd, thank you!” A rousing cheer goes up, and Louis can feel the energy shift in the room. There is an air of anticipation, with an electric undercurrent of nerves, although Louis is glad to see that Harry doesn’t seem nearly as anxious as he was last time.

The first singer up tonight is actually Ryan from Music, and Harry gives him a fist bump as he goes by. He sings “Chains” by Nick Jonas, to the obvious and very vocal approval of Jess, who is swooning with her girlfriends three tables back. Ryan’s voice is plain but strong and well-controlled, even in the high parts, and Louis and Harry clap for him loudly when he finishes.

Next is Lon, always with the cowboy hat and boots. After the first measures of “I Will Always Love You,” the women in the place erupt; his rendition is more Dolly Parton than Whitney Houston, but it suits his straightforward, no-bells-and-whistles style, and he gets a standing ovation when he holds out that last long note. Harry likes it too, Louis sees, because he’s talking with Niall, gesturing with his hands. “Big voice,” he thinks he hears Harry say. Niall is smitten. Louis can’t help but giggle a bit; if there’s anyone who will be able to get Niall to sing, it’ll be Harry.

Louis could tell as soon as Harry and Liam had arrived that Harry was relaxed; his smile was easy and full, so unlike last week, when it had seemed nervous and brittle. Last week at this time Harry had been constantly checking the board for his number, but Harry seems to be ignoring it tonight, in favor of watching and listening to the performers. Harry is smiling a lot tonight. In fact, Louis realizes, he was smiling a lot today at lunch too, and in Music. Probably because the baseball team is on a winning streak, and now the sports reporters are using words like “unstoppable” and “juggernaut,” predicting that they’ll break into the top ten when they go out to California next week.

Mohawk dude is next, and during his excellent, belting stab at “Somebody to Love,” Liam looks up to the board and taps Harry on the arm. He must see his number, because he draws his hand across his forehead and his knees start to bounce under the table. Louis sees Harry put his arm around him, and point across the room. Liam laughs, nodding, and he takes a deep breath. Louis wonders what Harry said to put Liam at ease, but doesn’t want to ask. Someone screams, “Yay, Jason!” and as the final hoots go up, a young waitress bumps her way toward them with a tray held high on her shoulder.

“A round for you, gentlemen,” she says, as she starts to place the wide plastic pint cups of beer on the table.

Harry lifts his hand as if to stop her, but then looks at Niall and Louis and asks, “From who?”

“They didn’t want to say. Just said these were for Stinger and his friends. Enjoy, guys.”

 Liam’s eyes go wide for a second, like he’s actually contemplating it, but he picks up his cup and places it in front of Niall wordlessly. Harry shrugs. “Drink up.” He pushes his to the middle of the table, for anyone who wants it.

Louis takes a sip. It’s cold and dry, just the way he likes it, but it’s nothing compared to the wine he and Harry shared last night at Bond. They had been alone, no witnesses but the pendulum and the stars, and he could tell that Harry liked it too, the way he held it in his mouth and swallowed thoughtfully. But here a hundred people are watching, and only one has to take a picture or post a blurb on Twitter for both Harry and Liam to get suspended from the team. Louis doesn’t want to drink when Harry can’t, so he slides his glass away from his place too after the first sip.

He turns to the stage where Princess is doing an ambitious rendition of “Crocodile Rock.” She wears big Elton John glasses in addition to her glittery gold tank top tonight, and it works. The crowd loves her for her fearlessness and penchant for choosing tough songs, and although she doesn’t always nail every note, tonight the overall effect is sensational. She slips off the stage to Z’s encouragement for another round of applause.

The number flips over on the screen and Liam stands. As he makes his way up to the stage, Harry scoots closer to Louis, but doesn’t stop clapping. “He’s nervous. I told him to picture everybody naked. We do that sometimes, when scouts or reporters come. It works.”

“Ah, good tip,” Louis says, though he’s quite sure that wouldn’t help at all if he suffered from nerves. In fact, Harry with no clothes on would probably make him lose the power of speech.

“Payno!” Harry shouts. Niall joins in, and pretty soon an impromptu chant goes up.

“Hey.” Liam says into the mic, and turns to watch the countdown. Someone wolf-whistles, and Liam starts to chuckle.

Harry moves close enough to Louis for their shoulders to brush together, and Louis leans in before he can stop himself. Harry’s hair smells clean, like the woods. Louis’ eyes close. “I bet it’s … ‘Uptown Funk.’”

Sure enough, the hand claps and guitar riffs, and the low “doh, doh, do-doh doh” signal that Liam _is_ going to rock them, or funk them up good. “This hit, that ice cold, Michelle Pfeiffer that white gold, this one’s for the hood girls, them good girls, straight masterpieces.” Liam sings more than Bruno does, actually _sings_ the lyric instead of half-talking it, and the crowd is infatuated from the start, whooping and cheering and making Liam smile. Some girls stand and start to dance.

“Got Chucks on with Saint Laurent, gotta kiss myself I’m so pretty! I’m too hot!” People sing back “Hot damn!” and Harry and Louis rise to their feet, with Niall close behind. “Called a police and a fireman, I’m too hot … ”

“I told you,” Harry boasts. It’s sweet and doting, but Louis finds himself pushing down a prick of jealousy over how well they know each other, and how far back they go, what they must have gone through together when they were just starting out. Louis claps along with the others, holding up the bass-heavy rhythm. He can’t help but get lost in the music.

Liam’s voice is sick. It’s a rich, full baritone that Louis just wants to curl up with. He wants to hear Liam sing power ballads and hymns and scatty jazz and hard rock and yes, even Justin Bieber. Jesus. Of course he won the contest, and of course he got the girl. His pitch never wavers, except when the ladies are answering his “girls hit your hallelujah” with _whooo_ s so loudly that it makes him laugh. His face is expressive when he sings, too, with his eyebrows rising, and he reaches out with his hand sometimes, trying to pull people in. It works.

Louis bumps Harry with his elbow. “Holy shit, where’ve you been hiding him?”

“Isn’t he good?” Harry beams. “He’s even better without a microphone!”

“Stop! Wait a minute! Fill my cup, put some liquor in it! Take a sip, sign a check! Stinger, get the stretch!”

A huge shriek rises up in the crowd and Harry guffaws in laughter, turning to Louis with wide eyes and his mouth a flabbergasted _O_ ; he ducks down and pushes his head into Louis’ shoulder for a second, and the rocking of his laughter knocks Louis off balance. They sway and straighten, looking back up at Liam, who nods and points at them like a popstar.

The song’s give and take is perfect for karaoke, and the crowd is right on point with the call and response. They are doing the _do-doh-doh_ s for him during the instrumentals, and they help with every “don’t believe me, just watch.” Even Z can’t seem to take his eyes off Liam. His normally cool, unaffected expression has turned animated and a bit disbelieving. Niall catches Louis’ eye, and mouths “holy shit!” and Louis mouths back “I know!” Harry may have just lost his spot as the favorite karaoke rookie with the damn gossip columnist, whoever it is, and that spotlight shift is just fine with Louis.

By the time the song winds down there is not one person in their seat, and Liam has a sheen of sweat on his forehead. He throws in a couple _say what_ s because the crowd has taken over and he can ad-lib his way to the end. He brings down the house with a bow, and when he replaces the mic on the stand Z has to shout to be heard for his announcement.

“Let’s give him another hand, everybody! Let’s call him The Fireman, shall we?”

“Whoo- hooo!” replies just about everyone, except Harry, who turns to Louis and drops his clapping hands. “Holy shit, Louis, I’m Pumpkin? And he’s _The Fireman_?”

“Aww.” Louis reaches up to pat Harry on the shoulder, but the muscle underneath is more solid than he expects, and he pulls back as if he’s been burned.

Harry doesn’t seem to notice. “’Scuse me,” he says, sliding behind Louis. On the way to the stage he gives The Fireman a complicated looking high five and slap on the rump as they pass each other.

Oh shit, no. Harry has to follow _that_?

“And it’s Pumpkin’s turn, everyone!”

Harry skips the last few steps to the stage as everyone continues clapping. Louis and Niall welcome a breathless Liam back to the table, shifting their seats so he can sit on the outside for more room. “That was insane, man,” Louis tells him sincerely, but he pulls his eyes up quickly to Harry, who looks happy and at ease.

Liam turns too, and calls, “Pumpkin!” There is a smattering of laughter, some people repeating the nickname as Harry waves and takes the mic.

“Gonna change the mood in here a bit, if that’s okay?” Harry squints into the light. He makes a little waving gesture, like everyone should sit, and many do, but some don’t. In fact, Louis feels some of the empty space filling in behind him with people trying to get closer. “Seriously, sit.” He puts both of his arms out and pushes the air down, and this time chairs shift and it feels like the whole room is taking a deep breath, shaking off the energy of Liam’s song as they take their seats.

Harry checks the monitor, and Louis can see his shoulders rise and fall with a smooth breath. Louis wipes his sweaty hands together. From the looks of things, he might be more nervous than Harry is.

Niall shifts closer to Louis. “What’s he singing?”

“Dunno,” Louis answers, not looking at him. “He didn’t tell me.”

Harry wasn’t kidding; when the music starts, it is the slow, lilting chords of a piano ballad. What is it? Louis’ mind scrambles to recognize it, but it could be any one of a hundred quiet love songs. What is he doing?

Harry takes a deep breath and begins.

“I know when he’s been on your mind, that distant look is in your eyes. I thought with time you’d realize, it’s over, over. It’s not the way I chose to live, but something somewhere’s got to give … ”

Harry’s voice is gentle tonight, so different from last week when he punched the lights out of ‘Step by Step.’ It’s not like Liam’s, not nearly as clean sounding. But there is something in it that is more _interesting_ than Liam’s, a depth, maybe. A layering. When it’s quieter like this, Louis can hear a rasp in it that sounds vulnerable, almost … wounded.

“You know I’d fight for you but how can I fight someone who isn’t even there? I’ve had the rest of you now I want the best of you, I don’t care if that’s not fair. ’Cause I want it all, or nothing at all … ”

It’s coming back to Louis now. The song is on Harry’s boyband playlist. He’s pretty sure it’s a one-hit wonder from when he was very little, the kind that would be on the station his mom would play on her kitchen radio as she was making dinner. He can’t remember the name of the band, but the formula of the ballad is familiar, and the tune comes back to him by the time Harry finishes the chorus.

“Is it all, or are we just friends? Is this how it ends, with a simple telephone call? You leave me here with nothing at all.”

There is a short instrumental interlude where the piano is joined by a guitar and drums, and the audience takes the opportunity to clap. Harry has been singing with his eyes mostly out to the center of the room, but now he looks to their table, and Louis gives him a smile. Harry takes another big breath, and begins the second verse, looking right to them, the rest of the crowd starting to sway in their seats.

“There are times it seems to me, I’m sharing you with memories. I feel it in my heart but I don’t show it, show it. Then there’s times you look at me as though I’m all that you can see. Those times I don’t believe it’s right, I know it, know it.”

Jesus. His voice is getting stronger, clearer, building with emotion that gives the song a real sense of drama. He’s throwing his head back, opening his mouth wider, and the notes are flowing out unrestrained. It’s utterly captivating. They talked about dynamics a little in Music, about how great songs have to go somewhere on a path, climb and dip, push out and pull back, to keep both the ear and the heart engaged. Harry must have really understood that, because it’s as if he’s taken them all by the hand, started out slow and safe, and now is pulling them toward something more important and a little bit dangerous. There’s a crescendo coming, Louis can feel it; Niall must feel that too, because he’s elbowing Louis in the ribs.

Louis leans in. “This is a good song for him. Fits his style really well.”

Niall’s usually soft, open face shoots him a look that feels like stabbing knives and it makes Louis shrink back a little. Niall shakes his head, his voice a quiet hiss. “Jesus, you piss me off.”

“What?”

“Louis. Open your _eyes_ , man. He’s singing this song to _you_.”

Louis’ jaw goes slack as if he’s been slapped. What in the actual hell. Niall has already turned away, and Louis is left to slump back in his seat to make sense of it.

“’Cause you and I could lose it all if you've got no more room, no more inside for me in your life, ’cause I want it all, or nothing at all. There's nowhere left to fall. It's now or never.”

Here it is, the crescendo. It’s a pause, followed by a booming drum and a big key change where Harry reaches up half an octave, a little strained in the higher part of his register. Violins come in, and a crew of backup singers, and suddenly the song that started out so simply has turned into a power ballad, and holy shit, Niall is right, Harry is singing it straight to Louis.

“Is it all, or nothing at all, there’s nowhere left to fall when you’ve reached the bottom. It’s now or never. Is it all, or are we just friends … ”

Louis lets his gaze slip to the floor, thinking Jesus, Harry. Don’t. You have to stay away from me.

It’s as if Harry’s heard him, because the song takes a turn and breaks down to just the simple piano chords again, the wind out of its sails. The last line brings Harry back to where he started, in a quiet, slightly scratchy but beautiful tenor. “You leave me here with nothing at all.”

The first applause floats up even before the piano completely fades, and Harry takes a bow.

“Pumpkin, you’ve outdone yourself. Beautiful,” Z says as he leaves the stage. Louis can feel people standing up all around him, and he seems pinned to the seat for a minute, not sure what to do. The shout of Liam’s “Stinger!” wakes him, and he stands up too, adjusts his glasses, and starts to clap.

Harry’s coming closer, walking tall through the tables, and Liam holds his hand up for another high five. Harry fist bumps Niall and Louis takes a step back to give him room.

“Hey,” Harry says, smiling. His chest is rising and falling under his t-shirt, and his breath is coming fast. “What did you think?”

“Great tune,” Louis says lamely. “It’s on your playlist, right?”

Harry’s face falls a little, and Louis is instantly sorry. “Yeah, it’s O-Town.”

“You sang it with such … it was _incredible_ , Harry, really. Amazing.” Louis hopes his face looks sincere. He’s not lying. He’s just not telling the whole truth.

“Thanks,” Harry says, holding his gaze, like he’s expecting something more. When nothing comes, he turns to the others. “I’m gonna go get a Coke. Anybody want anything?”

Actually yes, Louis thinks, how about a hole I can crawl into? He checks the board and doesn’t see his number, and figures now would be as good a time as any to hit the men’s room. Harry and Louis go their separate ways, and to Louis it feels like magnets repelling.

 == ♫ ==

Three songs later, the awkward tension between Harry and Louis seems to have melted just a bit, thanks mostly to Niall’s blatant refusal to sing.

“Fucking _no_ ,” he says again, in between songs, when Harry brings it up again. He drinks the last of Liam’s beer. “I can’t _fucking sing_.” An impressive burp. “I’m quite content right here. A casual observer.”

“Come on, Niall, you love music. You have more songs on your iPod than anybody I know. And your taste is … ” Louis looks at Liam for help with the word.

“Unconventional? Um, peculiar?” Liam offers with a shrug.

“Classic.” Louis finishes.

“Yes. Classic.” Harry agrees. “You could do something by The Eagles. ‘Peaceful Easy Feeling.’ Or ‘Take it Easy.’ Right?”

“Or you could really send these people over the edge and do something by The Weeknd.” Liam starts to croon. “I can’t feel my face when I’m with you, but I love it.”

Harry and Louis exchange a look. “He’s not gonna do it, is he?” Harry asks him, loud enough for Niall to hear.

“Nope. It’s a lost cause.” Louis answers.

“Shame. ’Cause I think this place needs more Niall.” Harry shrugs. “Too bad.”

“Yeah. Too bad.” Louis repeats.

Niall makes a face and reaches for Harry’s beer. “Too fucking bad.”

Liam chuckles. “Hey Louis, do you see your number yet? It’s almost ten.”

“Yeah, it’s coming up next.”

A serious girl with blonde braids and platform shoes is singing Ellie Goulding’s “Explosions.” It’s an odd, difficult song that Louis likes, especially when someone plays it loud in the Architecture studio, so the booming power of it can soar through the high ceilings. But this version is halting and spare; there is something about the sad lyrics sung by this girl's delicate, shimmery voice that gets under Louis’ skin.

“You left my soul bleeding in the dark so you could be king. The rules you set are still untold to me and I lost my faith in everything.” Louis wants to lean in close and drown in it, but run far away at the same time. Everyone is sitting still, rapt, but his legs itch to stand up and go. She’s teasing at the wound he’s been protecting, and he selfishly considers pulling out his phone just for a distraction, so he doesn’t have to hear her. Instead he turns in his chair, shifting his legs so he faces the far wall. He picks out a spot on the floor he can stare at, and wills her to hurry up and finish. “Explosions, on the day you wake up needing somebody. And you learn it’s okay to be afraid. But it will never be the same.”

Her voice begins to soften as the music slows, and Louis can tell it’s her final line. He takes a gulp of Harry’s water to clear the little burning feeling in his throat as everyone gets up to applaud.

“Break a leg,” Harry tells him.

“Will do.” Louis trots up to the stage to some calls of his name. He can hear Harry calling too, but when the other voices say “Lou,” he says “Louis.” It makes his heart bump. They might not know me, Louis thinks. But you do.

“Hey Lou,” Z says over his mic.

“Hey Z.” Louis hears a few whistles, and his heart pounds.

“Whatcha doin’ for us tonight?”

“Um. It’s an old song about heartbreak.”

“Awwww,” consoles the crowd.

“Alright. Let’s hit it. Show us what you got, Lou.”

Louis looks at the countdown and takes the mic from the stand. He feels a sense of relief up here, because for months, this has been the best way he’s found to get the hurt out. He takes his last breath, ready to let a little more of it go.

The opening bars are just about the definition of boyband pop. A synthesizer, electronic drumbeat, and guitar bounce are unmistakably The Backstreet Boys, with a rhythm made to sway and clap to. It draws his voice up and out.

“Even in my heart, I see, you’re not bein’ true to me. Deep within my soul, I feel, nothing’s like it used to be. Sometimes I wish I could turn back time, impossible as it may seem. But I wish I could, so bad baby, quit playin’ games with my heart.”

His voice feels good, and the clusters of people in the front are clapping to the beat. A few are dancing in their seats. Okay, that’s good. He sails through the chorus, layering his voice over the backup track. Louis has always thought his voice is kind of one dimensional, and he would choose a different one if he could. He’d choose one more like Harry’s, that has a layers of distinct, recognizable tones. Harry’s voice can be tender, but commanding too, always with that raw but warm and inviting sound.

Louis turns to search him out, curious, but then changes his mind. He can’t look at Harry when he’s singing about someone else. He picks out an empty chair, midway to the back, and sings to it instead.

“I live my life the way to keep you coming back to me. Everything I do is for you, so what is it that you can’t see? Sometimes I wish I could turn back time, impossible as it may seem … ”

Time. _Maybe we just need a break_ , his ex had said, _Like a time out_. _It’ll get better, hon, just give it time_ , his mom had said. _Don’t you think it’s time?_ Niall keeps hinting, without ever saying it out loud.

And then there’s Harry. _Can you forget about what time it is, and stay a little longer?_ That tap on his wristband, from all the way down on the mound, like a smoke signal. _All I can do is just be here, now,_ he’d said as they’d watched the pendulum. Harry, with his questions and his jokes, his talent, his dreams, and his tears. The pin dropped, and they waited, feeling each other out. Harry’s relaxed shape made no move to leave, and one more pin turned into three.

They’d stayed, their talk waxing and waning from animated stories and raucous laughter to quiet, thoughtful conversation with long lulls of comfortable silence in between. Harry had ended up having to sprint home, texting Louis at 11:07. “Made it!” followed quickly by “Short cut through Arts and Letters!” and “Damn, ripped my shirt on the fence!” and “Was worth it.” And finally, a bit later: “I had a really great time tonight (does that sound dumb?).”

“Quit playing games with my heart, with my heart, with my heart. I should have known from the start, from my heart, my heart.”

He does search out Harry now, and when he finally sees him, he can’t make himself look away. Harry isn’t clapping, isn’t moving anything, in fact, except his lips, which are curling around the words of the lyric. He’s singing. Every word of the song.

“Baby baby, the love that we had was so strong, don’t leave me hangin’ here forever. Oh baby, baby, this is not right. Let’s stop this tonight.” Harry is singing it right back to him from across the room. Louis is glad the song repeats and repeats, because he doesn’t have to tear his gaze away from Harry to look at the cues on the screen. They can just sing.

“Quit playing games with my heart, with my heart, with my heart. I should have known from the start, you know you’ve got to stop, you’re tearing us apart, quit playing games with my heart.” The song is about his ex, at least he thought it was, but now Louis is confused; it has turned into something else and he doesn’t know who it’s for anymore, or when or what, exactly, or even how. He just wants to keep singing so Harry can hear, so maybe they can help each other understand.

He feels a little desperation creep into his voice, that makes the tone go weak and pitchy for a second, because there is just one thing Louis knows. He taps his chest. This is why I’m like this. I can’t play this game, I’m no good at it. I lose. “You know you’ve got to stop. Quit playing games with my heart. Na-na-na-na -na-na-na, na-na-na-na-na baby.” He gets his control back in the next line; he can hear the music starting to fade, and he wants to finish strong. “Quit playing games with my heart, my heart, my heart.”

What’s Harry doing? Why is he standing up? Wait, Liam and Niall are standing too. And Ryan and Jess? And Lexi and Jason? They are all applauding, and some are shouting his nickname.

“Lou, everybody,” Z says, “give him a hand.”

Louis slips the mic back into the stand, trying to figure out how he’s going to get back to the table and what he’ll say when he gets there. Harry, he’ll say. Whatever the fuck this is — I thought I could, but maybe I can’t. He sees Harry standing by the wall, clapping, but chewing on his lip and looking down at the floor. Louis takes a deep breath and puts one foot in front of the other.


	3. Step Three

#### Today’s Chatham Chatter!

We’ve learned that the odds-on favorite for the lead in this year’s madcap Franklin Dorm Follies has come down with a nasty case of mono. Those of you looking to step into the spotlight, it’s time for your close-up! Audition at Franklin Thursday night at 9 p.m.

Don’t forget to vote for your favorite photo for the cover art contest for the Chatham Annual Hoot. View submissions at www.chathamannual.com. Voting ends April 15, so vote early and often!

Though his batting average is in the toilet, our new favorite songbird is evidently quite a “hit” at Trackside karaoke. But we’re curious: is he partial to the boyband genre for friendly competition with the veteran favorite? Or is there something else at play here? (Hint: is it All 4 Love?) We’ll be sure to fill you in on developments as they happen! But better yet, see for yourself, and maybe sing, too. Trackside hosts Karaoke Night every Thursday!

Chatham Crew will continue to schedule singing telegrams, since demand is high. Sorry, ukulele no longer available due to its unfortunate destruction at the hands of a dissatisfied customer. Check the Chatham Crew website for rates and available times.

 

#### Tuesday

“Listen up, gentlemen, I have a few changes to the schedule before I let you go.” Coach stands in the locker room in front of the seated players who hang on his every word. “I want everybody in the weight room tomorrow at four p.m. sharp for warm-up. I said _four_. Did everybody hear me?”

“Yes sir,” they reply in unison. They are tired, sweaty, and hungry, but every person on the baseball team will follow Coach into the hellmouth if he asks them to.

“Excellent. Warm-up, then bats at four thirty, baserunning and fielding drills at five. Dinner break, then pitchers and catchers, we’ll watch film at _seven_. Now everybody, I mean _everybody_ needs to be on the bus for the airport at eight a.m. Thursday morning or else _you don’t go_. Tater, this time no one’s going to come looking for you.” There is some light laughter, but Coach quiets them with a pointed look and a dramatic pause. He folds his arms. “This is the big one, gentlemen, the one we’ve been waiting for. I don’t have to tell you they’re going to play their uppity, overrated asses off. We win, _in their house,_ and they lose their place in the top ten. To do that, we’re gonna need everybody in top form.”

Harry’s legs are restless. He can taste it, he wants this win so badly. He shoots a look at Liam, who is staring at the floor with his jaw set. Top ten has an _excellent_ ring to it. He bumps Liam on the thigh.

“Styles and Payne, you’re up Thursday. Carlson and Rung, Friday. You good?”

The four bark, “Yes, sir!” Clapping and a spontaneous cheer of “Sting-er, Pay-no, Sting-er, Pay-no” rises up around them. But Harry doesn’t smile. He feels all of the boys’ confidence, their strength, their unflagging belief in him; there’s no way he’ll let them down.

The cheer ends with a rising holler from Mayes, their captain and star first baseman. “San Diego! We’re coming for _you_!” Coach claps along with them, and begins to back away, his stern face finally breaking into a smile. The meeting ends with his reminder for them all to go get some rest. They’re going to need it.

After he leaves the energy in the room relaxes a little, and the players begin to get undressed. Just as Harry strips off his sweaty shirt, he feels a swat across his backside.

“Hey Stinger, you made it. The big time.”

Harry turns to see Mayes holding out a newspaper, folded over to show _The Chatham Observer_ ’s gossip column, Chatham Chatter. Harry takes it, and Liam looks at it over his shoulder. What the hell, not again?

“Right here.” Mayes points to the third item. “No names of course. But that’s you, right?”

Oh shit. Ohshitohshitohshit. That’s him. Oh _shit_ , and Louis too. “Um. Yeah, that’s me.” Harry sinks down to the bench with the newspaper in his hand. He reads the item again. He wonders if Louis has seen this yet. It didn’t come up in Music, and Louis couldn’t do lunch because of a group project for his Building Arts class.

Liam gives him a punch on the arm. “Yep, that’s our Stinger. The place really did go apeshit, it was wild.”

“No, Payno, everybody went apeshit for _you_. You should be the one in this rag, not me. Shit. Did they fucking have to mention my batting average?”

“Oh yeah, dude, my girlfriend was there,” Tater pipes in from across the aisle. “Saw the whole thing. She said Payno resurrected Elvis or some shit.” Tater turns to Mayes. “Now she’s asking me why I don’t sing with Pumpkin and The Fireman.”

“Who?”

Oh shit, here it comes. “That’s Stinger and Payno. They got nicknames.”

 “No shit?” Mayes smiles at them, impressed. “You guys must be really good.”

Harry jerks his head toward Liam with as much of a smile as he can muster. “The Fireman here was. The crowd loved him.”

Liam shrugs modestly. “So were you, Harry.”

“Nah,” Harry says. He wasn’t. If he was, Louis would have taken notice. He would have forgotten about that other boy, and they’d be together. But his plan didn’t work. Twice.

Tater cuts in, waving his towel at Liam. “So how come Payno here gets to be The Fireman and you’re Pumpkin?”

“Aww. I think it’s sweet. It’s gotta be because of his looks,” Mayes says, smiling and pinching Harry’s cheek. “Or those things he lobs over the plate.”

“It’s because of curfew,” Harry answers, swatting Mayes’ hand away. Damn curfew. Usually he’s fine with the guys’ good natured ribbing, and he can give as good as he gets. But today he’s not in the mood. It's bad enough that he walks around with his heart in his sleeve in front of everybody at karaoke, but now the whole school knows. Fabulous.

“So who’s the dude?” Tater asks.

Mayes turns to him. “What are you, blind? It’s gotta be that guy that he was gawking at behind third base.”

What? Shit, he saw that? Well, fuck.

Mayes sits down next to Harry. “I’m the captain, Stinger. It’s my job not to miss shit.” He nods his head at the paper as he unlaces his cleats. “So what’s going on? Looks like the whole campus is interested.”

Harry gives Liam his “this is not happening” look, but Liam is genuinely concerned. “Yeah, Harry, what _is_ going on? I was there, and I don’t even know.”

Okay, seriously? Harry’s not sure he wants to have this conversation with his teammates about his non-existent love life. But Mayes is his captain, he’s known him for three years now, and he knows he can trust him. He’s the one who stuck his neck out when he was just a sophomore and Harry only a freshman, going to the mat with an asshole upperclass outfielder who had called Harry a fag. It was a clumsy, knock-down, drag-out fistfight in the dugout that left Mayes with a stunning black eye and the outfielder shamed; they both got suspended for fighting but Mayes wore the punishment with pride. He was young then, but he was charismatic and sharp, and after that, the guys on the team found their leader in him. He’s had Harry’s back ever since.

Liam is Harry’s best friend, roommate, and partner from the very first anxious days they spent at training camp the summer before freshman year. They’ve navigated everything together — classes, homesickness, asshole reporters, injuries, and of course, baseball.

And Tater. Well, he’s just Tater.

Harry takes a breath. “Well, he’s not interested. He said he … just wants to be friends, I guess.”

Their responses fly back at him like line drives. “Bullshit.” “The fuck?” “What?” They all talk at once, looking at him with various expressions of shocked disbelief.

Harry chuckles and shakes his head. These guys. He wouldn’t trade them, not for a second.

“Dude. That’s stupid. Look at you. You’re like … ” Tater begins, gesturing up to Harry’s face. Then he shrugs and looks away, swerving a little. “I mean … how can he be _not interested_?”

“Dunno.” Harry shakes his head. Well, to be honest, Harry doesn’t quite know _what_ Louis thinks. He never did _say_ those words. But really, he did, didn't he? With that song he chose, about heartbreak. Louis had searched him out while he sang about turning back time, and the game, and his heart. Harry got the message. _I got hurt_. “I get it, I guess? But … I just keep making an ass out of myself, you know?”

“Look, Stinger, I don’t know much about … um … ” Mayes waves his hand around like he’s looking for the right word.

“Being gay?” Harry offers flatly.

Mayes tilts his head at Harry like he’s just said the dumbest thing imaginable. “No, dude, the fuck does that have to do with anything? I was gonna say I don’t know much about karaoke. But I do know about making an ass out of myself. And … that’s usually how you get the girl. I mean guy, in your case. Or whatever.”

Harry looks at Liam, who nods sagely. Great. Liam too.

“Yeah, right,” Tater says, tossing his pants into the laundry hamper at the end of the row. “All that romantic shit? Like, loads of flowers, opening doors … you gotta show a girl how much you really care. Put yourself out there. Persistence. The chase. That’s what it’s all about.”

Mayes gives him a withering look. “Sounds a little stalker-y, dude.”

“Well Jesus, you don’t like, follow her around and blow up her phone and shit. But you know. Poems. Songs. Romance. Flirty kind of stuff. Stinger’s got it right. Girls eat that up. I mean, dudes too maybe?”

Harry looks at Liam again, who smiles back and shakes his head. Never once in three years did Harry ever think he’d ever be sitting in the locker room with his teammates, all in various states of undress, watching them argue about how he should best woo a boy. But here we are.

“The point is,” Mayes says with an air of authority, “quit beating around the bush. Make a move. Something … bold, you know? Show him what you’re made of.”

“Right. Don't give up, dude. We’re rooting for ya.”

“And one last thing. Get it figured out before San Diego, will you?” Mayes gives Harry an elbow, but smiles warmly. “No pressure.”

“Sure thing, boss.” They share a fist bump, and Mayes heads out to the showers, with Tater close behind.

Liam gets up with his towel in his hand, and pats Harry’s shoulder. Harry looks up to see him smirk. “Good talk,” he says with a chuckle.

“Right,” Harry deadpans. The paper looks up at him from his lap like a smoking gun. “It doesn’t matter anyway, we’re not even going to be here Thursday, so.”

“So what are you gonna do now?” Liam, who never lets him off the hook, who calls his pitches, who catches everything Harry has to throw at him.

As usual, Louis is clear in Harry’s mind: the anxious look he gets when he checks his watch, the visible ache when he told Harry about that stupid boy who hurt him. The way his hand snapped back when he touched Harry’s shoulder, and the skip in his voice when he sang that they’ve got to stop. But then there’s the smile Louis gave him when he’d first challenged him to karaoke, and his hovering when Harry was trying to pick a song. There’s how Louis’ eyes looked when they’d sang that little piece of Liam’s song together, alive and sparkling. How his skin felt when Harry had leaned in close to him the other night, how good it felt to feel Louis melt a little beside him, and whisper in his ear.

Words float around his head too, echoing even though Tater and Mayes are gone. Persistence. Romance.

Make a move.

“What time is it?” Harry gets up and lets the paper fall to the floor.

“S’about quarter after five,” Liam says, as Harry rushes past him toward the showers. “Why?”

Good, Harry thinks. There’s still time.

 == ♫ ==

**Hey, I won’t be in at Music Thursday. Away game.**

**Yeah? San Diego, right?**

**Yep. Two games, back Friday night.**

**You’ll miss karaoke too! The gossip columnist will be so disappointed.**

**Ugh, you saw the paper?**

**Yup. You’re famous. Again. Or still. Or something. lol**

**Sorry! :| !**

**No worries. Nobody believes that stuff anyway. Are you pitching?**

**Yes, Thursday.**

**Ok! Good luck, or, break a leg?**

**Ha, thanks. Away games are hard. No fans.**

**You’ll do great.**

**Hope so. Hey did you do the Music homework yet?**

**Just about to. You?**

**Trying but having trouble with some. Want to?**

**Ok. Library?**

**Cool. Is now good, or later?**

**Now’s good. 2nd floor. Don’t bring wine.**

**Ha. Thanks, you’re saving me.**

**See you.**

**C U.**

 == ♫ ==

There is a ghost sitting cross-legged on the stone wall just outside the library entrance. He smiles and tucks his longish blond hair behind one ear, then pulls the cuffs of his sleeves down over his long, thin fingers to keep them warm. Another ghost sits next to him, a boy with a denim jacket, glasses and a beanie, who laughs at something the first boy said and reaches out to take his hand. A violin case and a large black bag filled with sheet music sit between them on the ground, among the fallen leaves. Louis looks away quickly, before their hands make contact, the echo of his own laughter sounding foolish in his ear.

Louis’ phone buzzes in his back pocket. It’s Harry telling him he’s here already, and which table he chose. Louis forces himself to take the stairs one at a time. It’s just studying, he reminds himself, homework Harry’s having trouble with. But an image creeps in, one he’s thought of too many times: Harry’s lying on the floor in the pendulum room at Bond, looking up at the ceiling with his arms crossed behind his head for a pillow. Louis had sneaked a look at him when he was sure Harry wouldn’t know, and his face looked troubled, the eyebrow wrinkled and lips pressed together between his teeth.

Thoughtful. Beautiful.

He was just an arm's length away, but Louis still felt the pull to get closer, wondered what it would feel like to tuck right up next to him where they could talk in whispers and let the rhythm of their breathing fall into sync. But no, he’d thought then, and thinks again now; he knows what that feels like. It’s warm and happy and exciting and safe until it’s not anymore, until someone cuts the ropes and you’re left out there in the cold, alone and drifting. And he told Harry as much, without telling him, on Thursday night.

No. There’s nothing happening here.

Louis pushes through the glass double doors of the second floor and walks past the reference desk. Harry is right where he said he’d be, at a table by the window. He stands and gives Louis a wave. Louis notices he’s wearing different clothes from class today, his face looks freshly scrubbed, and his hair is clean and shiny. Of course. Harry’s had baseball practice this afternoon.

“Hey,” Harry says when Louis gets close. “Thanks for coming. I don’t have any time tomorrow to get this done, so.”

“Sure, no problem. Won’t take long.” Louis unzips his bag as Harry folds himself back into the chair and stretches his long legs out underneath, crossing them at the ankle. Although Harry isn’t actually that much taller than Louis, he seems to take up a lot of space at the table, and he has to move his legs when Louis sits down. These chairs aren’t the most comfortable, but no way was Louis going to offer to have them study at his apartment, in his living room, next to each other on his couch. Nope, across from each other at a hard table in stiff, high-backed chairs with random people milling around is just fine.

Harry’s iPod is already on the table, and Louis pulls out his tablet. “So, Kenley’s playlist has twelve music files, one minute each. For each one, we need to be able to identify genre, tempo, meter, and name any three instruments used.” Kenley’s weekly assignments span centuries and could include anything from chamber music to electronica to zydeco. Louis hasn’t ever gotten all twelve right, no one does, but he always looks forward to hearing Kenley’s latest eclectic mix of songs.

“Right. The instruments are no problem,” Harry says, “it’s the tempo I’m getting confused on. I can’t remember which Italian word means what. And the simple or compound meter thing is screwing me up too.”

Louis thinks a minute, trying to figure out how he can help, but Harry has it all figured out. “Here, maybe we could … share this so we can hear the same thing and … work together if we don’t get it?” Harry hands Louis one of the earbuds and he moves his chair closer, so the wire doesn’t stretch. Now he’s sitting on the end of the table, in the aisle, instead of on the other side. Louis is careful to shift his legs away so they don’t bump knees when Harry settles in.

“Okay, I guess we can just type our answers separately and compare them.” Louis hasn’t ever noticed the two little moles on the side of Harry’s face, or the way his cheek dimples when he smiles. He bites his lip and studiously turns on his tablet.

Harry nods. “Sounds good.”

Perfect. This is going well so far, all business. But now Harry’s thigh is inches away from Louis’, so close Louis can feel the heat in the air between them. He shifts slightly in his chair and opens his tablet to the Google Doc page where the homework form lives, and Harry puts an earbud in his right ear, closest to Louis.

“Okay, ready?” Harry asks, his thumb hovering over his iPod.

Louis pushes the earbud into his left ear. “Yep, hit it.” Now they are tethered together, and Louis has the feeling they are about to take off on a trip somewhere, just the two of them, with nothing other than music to guide them on their way.

The first piece fades in, and it is a symphony, timpani drums booming behind a lively string section. It sounds like a classical piece that public radio station at home plays on Sunday afternoons. Harry begins to nod, and Louis can see his hand tapping on his thigh, counting beats. Louis listens for a few seconds more, making sure he’s got the pulse right, then starts to type. Harry begins to tap on his tablet too, but gives Louis a questioning look.

“Need help?” Louis asks. From this close, Louis can see the sparse, dark whiskers on Harry’s face and smell his soapy, clean-clothes smell.

“No … don’t think so.” Harry turns back to his tablet and finishes his answers.

“Okay, let’s see.” Louis leans over so he can see Harry’s screen. Orchestral, _allegro_ , simple quadruple, violin, drum, cello. All correct. “You got it. Simple.”

Harry gives him a relieved look. “ _Allegro_ is fast, right? And _presto_ is very fast?”

“Right. _Lento_ is slow, _adagio_ is kind of medium slow? And _allegretto_ is almost fast.” Louis doesn’t have any trouble with the Italian; a semester in Rome last spring with the rest of the Architecture majors has made him more or less fluent, and what he can’t understand, he can almost always puzzle out.

“Ugh. There’s no way I’ll remember those.”

“I know, they kind of all sound alike. But you’ll get it. Let’s do the next one.”

After a moment the symphony fades, and the next song is starting. A screeching guitar solo takes Harry and Louis by surprise, and when the thundering bass drum and rhythm guitar join in, they recognize it as a familiar hard rock song. Harry’s moving in his seat, making a show of thrashing his head around, with a dramatic, metal-god look on his face. “Here I am,” Harry sings in a rumbly voice as he types. “Rock you like a hurricane!” Louis is a little bit entranced by the swing of Harry’s wavy hair against his forehead. “This one would be good for karaoke!” Harry says suddenly, breaking the spell.

Louis chuckles and begins to bang his head too, typing his answers at the same time. He joins Harry in the song, only he sings a harmony that’s not on the recording, a step up from Harry’s notes. One girl three stacks down pokes her head around the edge of the bookcase, giving him a stern look. But her face seems to soften as she watches them, and Louis thinks she must recognize Stinger. She retreats around the corner without a word. “Are you ready baby? Here I am! Rock you like a hurricane!” Harry gawks at him with raised eyebrows and they share an amused look before Louis gets serious and thinks for a second. “Is there a bass guitar in there?” Louis asks.

Harry nods. “Hear it? Bum, bum, bum, bum bum bum. Jesus, this song is sick. And you’re a … really good singer.”

Louis gives his head a little shake. “Thanks. You’re not so bad yourself.” _Moderato_ , Louis types, chewing on his lip, and adds electric guitar, drum, and bass guitar. After he finishes, he tilts over to look at Harry’s screen, where he has answered the same way.

“See, Harry, you got that one too. You’re on a roll. Easy.”

Harry rubs his hands together, like he’s ready to get down to business. The Scorpions fade. “Here comes the next one.”

A single horn scats and bebops over the top of an irregular piano melody. Shit. Okay, easy part first. Louis types Jazz. Trumpet. Piano. He listens more closely, closing his eyes. Upright bass. And the tempo sounds … hmm, probably _vivace_ , lively and fast. Now the hard part. Louis tries to hone in on the structure of the rhythm, blocking out everything but the drum. But just as he grabs hold of it and starts to count, it skitters away. He tries again, but the drummer just seems to be tapping the snare whenever he feels like it, with no regard for a regular pulse, and Louis can’t find a steady beat. He’s not going to get this one. He opens his eyes to find Harry looking at him, and his heart seems to jump with the syncopated thrum of the bass.

“So what do you think?” Louis asks, shifting in his seat. Harry slides his tablet so Louis can see, then starts to tap his fingers against the table as he waits.

Holy shit, Compound duple meter. Of course. Harry got it. Piano, drum and trumpet, yes, but is it really _allegrissimo,_ not _vivace_? The piece is beginning to fade, but even so, the tempo of the music is clear and yes, it’s faster than _vivace_. _Allegrissimo_ for sure. Louis looks up from the tablet to Harry’s face, which holds the start of a smile, and Louis begins to suspect something that he doesn’t know what to do with just yet: Harry doesn’t need his help at all.

“Did I get it right?”

“Yeah.” Louis makes a face at him. He does a bad imitation of Harry, in a desperate voice. “Can you help me? I’m so confused! I don’t know what any of these words mean!” He shoves Harry’s tablet back, his tone returning to normal. “You need help, my ass.”

Harry smiles and pleads his case a little as the piece dies away. “No, I do, I do need help. I’ve been studying, but … ” he gives Louis a shrug, which looks equally like an apology and an admission of guilt. There is the dimple that clefts Harry’s cheek, and Louis has to force himself not to stare at it. It would be a perfect place to stroke with the tip of his thumb.

With that the next piece begins, and just after the first few bars of guitar and drum, Harry’s face changes into a look of surprise and adoration. “Alright, Kenley! Good one!” Harry says brightly, and begins to type right away. Louis recognizes the song at once. It’s James Bay’s “Move Together.”

Louis notices that Harry is swaying a little as he begins to sing along softly with the music. “We didn’t get tonight, we don’t have tomorrow, so don’t ruin now.” Louis types too, humming the melody. This is one of his favorites. Pop, _lento,_ guitar, drum, voice. But Harry interrupts, elbowing him, and Louis looks up.

“Hey, is the meter on this really … ”

Louis hasn’t gotten that far, but he starts to count. “A waltz!” they say at the same time.

Louis laughs, because who knew, but sure enough, the song fits into the _one_ -two-three, _one_ -two-three count. For a few moments Louis pictures people slow dancing to make sure the meter fits. Well, maybe not just anybody, it’s Harry’s arm he pictures slipping around his own waist, pulling him closer, and Harry’s strong hand taking his gently, and holding it to his chest between them. “How we gonna move together? Just come closer. If we don’t move together,” they sing softly, Louis relaxing into the feel of Harry’s lower, fuller voice under his. _one_ -two-three, _one_ -two-three, and Harry leads them, and they step together, pressed chest to chest right here between the stacks. The guitar strums for them in round chords that croon and plead, and Louis takes a second to just be held, be led, be carried away from this haunted place in Harry’s arms.

“Are you finished?” Harry asks simply, pulling Louis out of his dream.

Louis double-takes down at his tablet hoping Harry can’t read his thoughts on his face. “Um … yeah. Let’s see.” He shouldn’t even bother checking, this is an easy one. But Harry tilts his tablet toward him, and Louis’ hand rises up to adjust his glasses. His eyes swim over the words written next to the number four.

“Singer/Songwriter. _Lento_. Please let me kiss you.”

Burning heat rises up in Louis’ cheeks, and he looks away, all at once feeling the warm, solid curve of Harry’s knee against his thigh, along with the heat of Harry’s forearm that has shifted to rest right next to his. He studies the lined pattern of wood grain on the desktop, with its swirls and dents, feeling the suddenly fierce drumming of his heart. The voice in his ear sings, _just keeping the peace, between these sheets_. But there is another voice too, Harry’s, and it’s saying his name. “Louis.” The lilting rhythm pulls Louis’ eye to Harry’s sleeve, then his shoulder, then across to his neck. Louis swallows. If he looks at Harry’s face it’ll be over, his eyes will betray everything, but the music is guiding him somehow, telling him it’s alright to look, and he does, the minor chords drowning out everything except the soap and mint, the chestnut hair, the flecks of moss and emerald in his sweet, searching eyes. Time is still and Harry is so close that Louis doesn’t breathe, just sees, and lets himself be seen. Harry might just be breathing for both of them, the air moving gently in and out through his slightly parted lips. _Before you go, turn around, let me hold you,_ the song implores, and Louis can’t say no. Not this time. He closes his eyes at the last moment, when he feels Harry’s trembling fingers touch his cheek.

It doesn’t sting. It’s actually soft.

Harry’s lips are gentle, pressing tenderly then retreating a little, just enough for a taste. It makes the sturdy structure of Louis’ ribs quiver, and he feels a door inside his chest open with a hot flip. He tilts his head and lets his breath go, pushing forward to find Harry again and settle in for real. The melancholy guitar chords pull him closer, and his hand rises to touch Harry’s face. _Lento, lento._ Their lips touch and hold, breathing into it now, and Harry’s mouth opens against him like soft petals. It’s slow and deliberate, the way just the tips of their tongues touch, and they are really dancing this time, leading and following with a gentle sway and dip. It’s dizzying, and Louis has to pull away a second, their foreheads still pressed together. As if on cue the music begins to fade, the last pleas of a lonely lover disappearing into silence, and to Louis it feels like a curtain falling across a stage. Wait, wait, what did we … Louis opens his eyes to see his hand on Harry’s smiling cheek, his eyes half-closed and waking.

Holy shit, no, no no nononono.

They break apart, Louis pulling back so quickly that the earbuds drop from both their ears and clink on the table between them.

“Wait, Louis, where … ” Harry is slowly coming to, his eyes blinking with the shock, like he’s just been splashed with water. “Don’t … go, wait,” Louis hears, but it’s no use, he’s got to get his stuff and get out of here now, before he falls, before he gets pulled under. His tablet is unwieldy for some reason, and he crams it into his backpack clumsily, rising to his feet. Harry reaches out for his arm. “Louis, stop. Please.” But Louis doesn't look at him, can’t, or else he’ll be pinned to the spot. He’s got to go.

“I can’t, sorry,” he manages to mumble, swinging his backpack over his shoulder. The chair makes an awful grating sound as he pushes away. Harry is starting to stand, reaching out again. “No, no, don’t get up,” Louis says stupidly. His ears feel hollow with no music to fill them. His chest might be hollow too, all the heat and pounding gone silent.

He walks quickly past the reference desk and down the steps and he doesn’t look back. When he hurries past the stone wall outside, the sidewalk seems to slant and curve under his feet, his eyes slipping past the place where the ghosts of the boys still sit. He walks faster, turning his head so he doesn’t have to meet their eyes.


	4. Step Four

#### Today’s Chatham Chatter!

A reminder from the Dining Services Department: those with outstanding parking tickets will have their dining card suspended until outstanding fines are paid in full! Don’t be one of the unlucky ones who can’t have meatball pizza tomorrow. Pay fines on the third floor of the Admin building.

Those songbirds that may or may not be a couple may have been seen on the second floor of the library recently. They may or may not have been sharing earbuds, listening to what may or may not have been boyband songs while they may or may not have been sharing a kiss. Stay tuned for updates on this developing story!

The Annual Chatham Flight Fight will take place on Engineering Quad on Friday at four pm. Aerospace students will be flying unmanned craft of their own design. As always the airshow will feature a race component and an aerobatics component. Students observe at their own risk. Seating available on the grass or on the roofs of Bailey, Turner, and O’Laughlin Halls.

As many have already heard, our beloved Theater Department chair Mr. Jack Beasley will be retiring at the end of the year. Stop by the Talon Theater to sign the monstrous card the Design Department created, and to give him your well wishes. Good luck in New York, Mr. B!

 

#### Thursday Night

It’s bad enough when Harry pitches a bad game at home. But he feels like absolute shit when they’re on the road. California hasn’t been treating him well.

It’s a cool, dry evening in San Diego. The dirt on the mound is sandier than Harry is used to, and there’s a weird glare off the blue infield walls that annoys him. The crowd is rabid; they’d like nothing better than to see The Stinger go down in a fiery ball of flames. And they just might get their wish.

Harry’s got runners on the corners and the count is three-two. He straightens his cap by the bill, taking a deep breath and blowing it out through his cheeks. He glances over to the statistician, who’s showing his binder to the pitching coach. Shit. It’s only the fifth inning and he knows his pitch count is pushing a hundred. Not his best work. And he doesn’t even want to think about what’s happened to his ERA. There’s movement in the bullpen; Lopez is warming up. Fuck.

Harry has always felt like the sharp point of the lance when he’s on the mound. He’s taller than everyone else when he’s up there, with the strength and focus of all his boys behind him, and his arm may as well be a cannon the way it fires the ball out fast and hard over the plate. But today everything feels blunt and loose, like they’re all fifth graders instead of the number twelve team in the nation. Well, that’s not exactly true. Tater climbed halfway up the right field wall to catch that fly in the first that saved two runs, and Bender and Mayes turned that double play in the third.

So. It’s just Harry who’s playing like he’s still in Little League.

He looks up to the stands behind the third base line, searching for Louis. It’s stupid, he knows, because Louis is halfway across the country, back at school studying, and singing at karaoke tonight. His seat is taken by a middle aged man in a San Diego windbreaker who shouts, “Go Blue, Go Blue!” Shit, Louis. I’m having kind of a hard time here. The thought of Louis watching this debacle online or even just catching the score makes Harry curse under his breath. Fucking fuck.

He can hear Mayes calling out to him from first base. “You got this, Stinger! You got this, let’s go.” Harry knows what Mayes is doing without having to look. He’s punching his hand into his glove, nodding confidently, and spitting sunflower seed hulls toward the foul line. But Harry can’t face him, not now.

Harry turns to Liam and rolls his shoulders uselessly. Liam signals for a curve, and Harry shakes him off. No fucking way. Liam might believe Harry can control a curve at this point but Harry knows better. If he throws a curve he’ll take the walk and then the bases will be loaded. Try again.

Liam swirls his pinky finger down toward the ground, their sign for “if you don’t get your head in the game right fucking now you’re going down the crapper.” No shit. A short nod, then Liam taps the back of his open hand twice against the inside of his thigh. Fast and outside. Why not. Another nod. The pendulum swings in his mind, coming toward him slowly and silently, then pulls away. He starts his windup.

Miraculously the ball snaps into Liam’s glove high and outside, but the umpire calls a strike and Harry feels the wave of boys behind him running in. Liam pops up and claps his glove to the players as they pass. Harry walks sullenly, knowing he’s done for the day. Fuck fuck _fucking fuck_.

Liam lifts off his catcher’s mask and stuffs it under his arm as he approaches. “Nice save.”

Harry says nothing. He heads straight for the dugout where no one will catch his eye.

Later in the locker room, Harry sits on the trainer’s table with his phone in one hand and a five-pound weight in the other.

“Three more, Harry,” the trainer says, and he pulls Harry’s pitching arm out to the side, then straight up over his head and around in a semicircle. “Any pain?”

“No,” Harry answers flatly. But that’s wrong, because there’s tons. It’s just not in his arm.

There’s still no text from Louis.

The trainer rolls his arm in the other direction, then massages it from the shoulder down to the elbow. It shouldn’t be much longer now. He’ll take a hot shower and wash off this game. He’ll change his clothes, then take the bus to the hotel, where he’s in for a long night of brooding.

Harry can picture Louis getting ready for karaoke. He’s probably got his song all picked out. It’s some pop hit that people forgot that they totally love, and Louis is singing it right now, flipping his hair and closing his eyes with the feeling. Everyone is clapping and cheering along, some calling out his name. He’s smiling at them, holding them hostage. And his voice. His voice is curling around every note expressively, and he’s adding little embellishments, a surprising note change here, a smart ad-lib there. The crowd is hanging on his every measure and Z is giving him a thumbs up and that closed-eyed, moody nod that says “you got this, Lou, you’re killing it.”

If Harry could just take back what he did. He’s not sure what that was exactly, but it was enough to ruin things. But he could swear that Louis had been right there with him, though. They were laughing together. They were close. They were even singing that song together, that gorgeous song Harry loves, about making the best of the time you have. Their voices moved and lifted and it was perfect, for a moment or two. Maybe Louis saw his hand shake a little, but no matter. Louis’ cheek felt warm and his lips tasted just like Harry thought they would, no, they were better, a rich blend of peach, butter, and boy. But then it turned terrible; Louis had broken away and fled.

And Harry hasn’t heard from him since.

The trainer leans Harry back so he’s fully reclining on the table. Legs last, then he’ll be done. Harry flips through his texts one more time as the trainer lifts one leg by the calf and foot, pushing and pulling, twisting and rotating.

**Hi. I’m sorry.**

**Do you have lunch plans today?**

**Louis, did I make a mistake? If I did, I’m an ass. I’m sorry.**

**We’re leaving for CA in a few minutes. I’ll let you know when I get there.**

**Here. Sunny.**

**Can you text me and let me know you’re okay?**

Really smooth, Styles. If he was there tonight, at karaoke, Harry would know what to do. He’d just pick a song and sing it. The song would tell Louis that he’s sorry. It would be slow and sad, and it would have just the right lyric that Louis could hear, to break through the wall he’s built around himself to keep the pain away. The right song could get to him.

He looks at his phone again, willing it to buzz. He should text Louis again. Maybe he could make another playlist.

Wait. Maybe there is something else he can do. Harry picks up his phone again and taps on Liam’s name, then begins to type.

**Hey, I need your help with something.**

**Everything ok?**

**Yep. Can you find Mayes too?**

Just because Harry’s not there at Trackside doesn’t mean he can’t sing to Louis.

 == ♫ ==

“Hey Lou.” Z is looking around for someone. “Where’s your Pumpkin?”

Wait, what? “No, he’s not … we’re not … ” Ugh. Fuck it. “He’s playing baseball, away. Won’t be here tonight.”

“Oh, too bad. Dude can sing.” Z gives Louis a raised-eyebrow look that might mean “oh, that’s too bad. Dude can sing.” Or it might mean “you fucked up, didn’t you?” Or it might not mean anything at all.

Louis goes back to the laptop, finally finding the title he’s looking for. It’s a song he’s been singing for weeks, maybe months on and off, in the shower, in line at the grocery store, in the car with the windows up at the top of his voice. He enters his name and memorizes his number, feeling strange that he has no one to hide it from, but grateful that Harry won’t be hearing it.

== ♫ ==

As Niall comes back to their table with his beer, Louis takes a looks over the crowd. The usual gang is here: Ryan and Jess, Princess, Lon, Jason, Angela and Nancy. The lumberjack guy is here too, and a whole new crew of guys that might be a good chunk of the hockey team with their girlfriends. Louis sees the Explosion girl too; the sight of her makes him squirm a little in his seat and turn away, thinking maybe he just should have stayed home tonight.

“Feels weird without Stinger and Payno here,” Niall says.

It’s true, the table seems too big for them. But. “What do you mean? They only came with us twice, you know.”

“I know, but it was like … ” Niall shrugs and looks down at his phone. “We were a group, or something, you know? Was fun. With them.”

Louis hears what Niall didn’t say. “They’ll be back next week, don’t worry. And you better have a song picked out by then.” Louis tries to be light about it. Actually, he doesn’t have any idea what the state of things with Harry will be next week, or even tomorrow. But Niall doesn’t have to know that.

“Have you heard from Harry?”

The question makes Louis defensive, and it shouldn’t. “No. Not yet.”

It’s not exactly a lie. Louis hasn’t heard from Harry _tonight_ , about the game. Of course he hasn’t — it’s only quarter after nine, and San Diego is two hours behind. The game is only two or three innings in, and there are no phones allowed in the dugout. So. But really, why would Harry text him? There are those others, the ones from this morning and yesterday, and even Tuesday night that sit in his inbox, lonely looking, all in a row without answers. Louis has tried to reply, a few times. He hasn’t known what to say, and he ends up deleting the sentences that all sound stilted and lame. _I’m sorry I ran away_ would be a good start, he thinks, but now it just seems … too late for that.

“I’ll check the score.” Niall takes a gulp of beer and thumbs open his cell phone. Louis sees his eyes squint up as he scrolls through the screens, and his heart beats a little faster. A win for Harry would be huge. The top ten will secure their spot in the College World Series tournament again this year, and Louis knows how badly Harry wants that for his résumé. And no matter what is or isn’t going on between them, Louis wants it for him, too.

“Shit.” Niall looks up.

“What?”

“It’s not good.”

Louis’ heart drops into his stomach. “What’s not good? What’s the score?” He has to stop himself from reaching for the phone.

“Four-two, San Diego. Shit, they’re teeing off on Harry.” Niall’s face is worried. “But wait, it’s still early yet, only the third inning. He can get it back.”

Yes, Harry can get it back. He pictures Harry’s long, lean lines moving with startling force, cutting down batter after batter so effortlessly. There must be something wrong for Harry to be struggling. There must be a problem, a distraction, maybe. Something that has caused him to lose focus.

Shit.

“Niall.” Louis’ voice cuts over the bar noise, and Niall looks up quickly. Okay, here we go. “So, um. Something happened with … ” But Z’s smooth voice is suddenly loud over the speakers, and a scattered, excited applause begins.

“What?” Niall waits expectantly.

Louis feels that shift in the crowd, that rising of energy and excitement, and he lets the subject drop with a shake of his head.

“Welcome to Trackside Karaoke, everybody,” Z announces. “Let’s get this party started, shall we?”

== ♫ ==

Louis waits through Lon’s surprisingly gentle version of Patsy Cline’s “Crazy,” and Princess’ simple, desperate “Love Me Tender,” and even New Hockey Boy’s earnest stab at “Stay With Me.” But after Angela and Nancy’s catchy rendition of “I Got You Babe” he can’t wait anymore, and he pulls out his phone to check the score. Four-three, bottom of the sixth. Damn.

“Is it bad?” Niall asks.

Louis just nods.

“Shit.”

Although Louis has no notifications he taps open his messages, just in case. Nothing. His thumb taps on the last one he’s received, the one from Harry this morning.

**Can you text me and let me know you’re okay?**

Shit, Louis, shit shit shit, you absolute asshole. Louis types.

**I’m okay, Harry. Are you?**

His thumb hovers over the send button. What is this for, anyway? Harry’s sitting in the dugout in a faraway city with no fans to speak of, no support. The damage is already done. Louis curses under his breath. He’s two days late and a dollar short, and there’s no one else to set the blame on but him. He deletes the line and puts his phone back in his pocket.

Explosions girl walks by their table on the way to the stage, and Louis feels like he has to brace himself. The girl’s got power in her voice. The last time she sang he felt like she was flaying him open with it.

“Hey Liv.” Z greets her simply. “Ready?”

She nods and steps up to the mic. Louis looks down at the floor and crosses his arms.

A wide open, gently repeating piano chord with a drum behind it causes the crowd to stir with interest. Louis can’t place it right away, but it’s a familiar, lovely song, that the back of his brain associates with summer picnics and walking to the library as a kid. He lets out a sigh, relieved. Liv taps her palm against her thigh and steps lightly from side to side, waiting for her first line, and Louis wonders how he could have ever been afraid of her.

“I walked across an empty land. I knew the pathway like the back of my hand.” Her voice is tender and slight, but fits the song well, and Louis leans in. It takes her a minute to find her footing, and it’s lovely to listen to her get there. “I felt the earth beneath my feet, sat by the river and it made me complete.” By the time she gets to the chorus she’s taking deeper breaths and tilting her head back to let the notes go.

“Oh simple thing, where have you gone, I’m getting old and I need something to rely on.” Louis starts to sing quietly with her. He’d forgotten about this song completely, but he loves the steady, kind beat of it, and he taps his heel and closes his eyes. He finds he knows every lyric too, even though they’ve been buried for years. “So tell me when, you’re gonna let me in. I’m getting tired and I need somewhere to begin.”

There is something about this song, and her voice singing it, that draws him in. Last time her voice was stabbing at his wounds, but this time, it’s cradling him in a memory, a feeling. He smiles when he recognizes it. The song _feels_ like sitting with Harry in the pendulum room. He sees brick walls and a starry sky. The lilt of her voice carries him there. “And if you have a minute why don’t we go, talk about it somewhere only we know? This could be the end of everything, so why don’t we go … somewhere only we know.”

Now she’s moved them to the library, where they are laughing over heavy metal and Harry’s pronunciation of fancy Italian words. A cord hangs from his ear, the sound enclosing them in a bubble all their own, with their foreheads pressed together and Louis’ hand on Harry’s cheek. “So tell me when you’re going to let me in … ” He wants to sit inside the bubble, rewind what he did and just be tangled up with Harry there, though somehow the big crescendo has come and gone and the music is slowing. She sings the last line in not much more than a whisper, and Louis is back at karaoke, opening his eyes and letting the dream disappear.

She smiles and takes a bow, and Louis stands for her.

Niall bumps him, pointing to the screen. “Hey, isn’t that you?”

Shit, yes, that’s his number.

He walks up to the stage in a blur, passing Liv on the way. He tells her “beautiful,” and tries hard to keep his feet underneath him and remember what song he picked what seems like hours ago.

He pulls up to the mic and looks at the countdown on the screen, feeling strangely unprepared. Z asks if it’s going to be another boyband song tonight, and Louis answers of course, to which the audience sends up a holler. He runs his fingers through his hair, looking at the lyric screen to make sure of the first line. Once he gets through the first line he’ll be alright. He takes a deep, steadying breath.

“Show me the meaning of being lonely,” he sings, and the guitar with its Spanish-sounding chords fills in behind him. He hears a few _oooh_ s from the audience, and he puts an open hand on his chest. It’s a sad song, about heartbreak and missing someone.

“So many words for the broken heart. It's hard to see in a crimson love … so hard to breathe, walk with me, and maybe … ”

Thing is, the person he was thinking about when he picked the song isn’t the person that he’s thinking about now. He looks over at his table, searching for Harry. Stupid, he knows, because of course Harry isn’t there, he’s a thousand miles away with nobody to support him, fighting and losing.

“Show me the meaning of being lonely, is this the feeling I need to walk with? Tell me why I can’t be there where you are. There’s something missing in my heart.”

There is something missing. Louis turns away to look back at the lyrics on the screen. They scroll past and Louis sings them, words about a lover dying and what it’s like to finally see them again, but mostly about the pain in between. When he glances up the room is strangely quiet, without the normal bustle of people talking and shifting. He sings out past the lights into the darkness, calling out to the boy in the dugout as if by some trick of physics or fate Harry might be able to hear him.

“There's nowhere to run, I have no place to go … surrender my heart, body, and soul.” Louis has no idea if he’s on pitch and no idea where the dynamics went, because he’s just shifted into a different gear, where all that matters is the feeling. The feeling of Harry. I miss you.

This is the big bridge coming up, and Louis gives it all he’s got, just like when he’s in the car alone and no one will hear. His voice is coming from a different place than it ever has, down in his chest rather than up in his head. It’s stronger, more honest.

“You are missing in my heart. Tell me why can’t I be there where you are.”

There is just one chorus left. This new place has left him tingly, alive feeling. It’s not the kind of high he gets from applause or compliments. For the first time it’s from the inside, a full fluttering in his chest that goes down his arms to his hands, and plants him solid on his feet. For the first time in months, he’s not singing about being torn, hurt, confused, or sad.

For the first time he’s singing about love.

== ♫ ==

“Hi Louis. Um … I don’t know when you’ll get this, or even if you’ll look at it? But right now it’s Thursday night, and I’m still in San Diego.” Harry speaks haltingly, and clears his throat. He looks like he has just recently showered; his hair is slightly damp, hanging over his forehead in wavy pieces, and his simple gray t-shirt with its stretched out collar looks like something he’d go to sleep in. Behind him is the bland, generic tan wallpaper of a hotel room. Oh my god, Louis thinks, soft. It’s the first thing that comes to his mind. Harry “Stinger” Styles is soft, and he’s – God, he’s just beautiful.

Louis hits pause and gets up from the bed to close the bedroom door. If Niall hears this, Louis will never hear the end of it. The link Harry had messaged him as they were driving back from karaoke sent him to an account on YouTube called simply “HES.” This is the only video posted, and it has no views yet. Louis’ heart thuds against his ribs as he sits back down, on the floor this time, with his back against the edge of the bed. He takes a deep breath and presses play.

Harry is looking everywhere but at the camera, and he’s fiddling with the edges of the tablet on his lap. “I um, I don’t know, it’s Thursday, and it’s kind of our night, I guess? Or I thought of it as our night, anyway. But not anymore, maybe?” He purses his lips together and looks into the camera, disappointment in his eyes. He’s rubbing at his bottom lip nervously. “We won today. But I … I played like shit.” A long pause, and Harry runs his hand through his hair, smoothing it back. “I miss you.”

Louis bites his thumbnail.

“So maybe I’m making an ass out of myself again, um, I’m doing that a lot lately, I guess. But I’ve been looking for a song that I could sing you, since I couldn’t be there.” Harry looks right at him now, as if he can see through the camera lens across the wires and straight into his eyes. It makes Louis swallow. “And I … feel bad about what happened. I’m sorry. I hope we can, um. Be back like we were. Or. Well. Whatever you want.” Harry looks off to the right of the camera and makes a “come here” motion. “This is an old song my dad liked. You might know it.”

Two people come into the frame, one on either side of Harry, and they sit down on the bed behind him. One of them is Liam, also in loose cotton shirt and flannel pants, and the other is someone Louis doesn’t recognize. He’s huge and shirtless, wearing only a pair of shorts in Chatham Owl colors, red and gray.

“Payno and Mayes are going to help me out,” Harry says, jerking his thumb backward. “And we’ve only rehearsed this twice,” Harry adds, skimming his hands over his thighs, “so it might suck really bad? But. We’ll give it a try. Okay.” Harry comes closer and reaches toward the camera, his hand disappearing below the frame. Louis hears a click, followed by some slow, simple guitar chords.

Oh. My God.

Louis pushes pause again, his hands fumbling the phone so badly it almost drops into his lap.

“Ohmy _GOD_.” He says the words out loud, and claps his hand over his mouth. He looks around stupidly, as if there is someone who might see. His heart pounds hot up near his throat, and the phone starts to shake in his trembling hand. Harry is frozen on the screen with Liam and Mayes behind him. They’re going to sing. For _him_.

Louis wipes his hands over his face and pinches the bridge of his nose under his glasses. He could just stop now. He could exit out of this, swipe it gone, erase the link, and pretend he never got it. That would be easy. Say goodnight to Niall, turn off his phone, and he could just put this fucking confusing, guilty day to bed.

But Harry will see that there’s been a view on it.

Louis leans back against the bed and drops his head back on the mattress. He stares up at the ceiling, his heart hammering. He wants to hear Harry’s voice, God, he missed him tonight, but what will it mean if … if Harry’s song is … oh my God, he has to walk, pace, move around, think. He jumps up, leaving the phone on the floor, and strides quickly across the room, hands on his hips and breath coming fast. He wears a path back and forth, then ends up by the closet, where his mirror shows him breathless and flustered. His own anxious eyes look back at him, and the image looks like a stranger. Niall’s voice growls in his head. “Jesus, you piss me off.” Well now he’s pissing _himself_ off.

“What the hell are you doing?” he asks out loud.

That’s Harry over there, on pause. Harry who backed him up in Music class, who sat with him at lunch and asked him to stay. Harry who made him a playlist, who brought him supper, who stayed at Bond until the very last possible second to be with him. Harry who sang that he was going to get to him, Step by Step. Who sang to him, in front of a room full of people, that he wanted All or Nothing. Harry who didn’t need any help with homework but pretended he did just to see him. _To see him._ Who counted out the waltzing rhythm and sang _just come closer_. Harry. Who instead of taking a kiss asked for one.

Suddenly Louis can’t wait another second. He has to hear Harry’s voice.

He spins and snatches up the phone, which has already gone dark. He drops to sit on the edge of the bed, sliding and unlocking and almost losing the picture. Fuck, fuck. There. Harry is still there on the hotel bed, thank God, with Liam and Mayes on either side. Harry has just taken a breath, and he is about to … oh my God … sing.

Louis bites his lip and presses play.

== ♫ ==

The music starts, and suddenly Harry can’t believe he’s doing this.

“Something bold,” Mayes had said, but Harry is sure Mayes never thought he’d actually be an accomplice to a remote serenade. But all Harry had to do was explain this insane plan and Mayes was on board, Liam too, no questions. Mayes sweet-talked Coach into letting them use his laptop, promising they’d return it by curfew, and Harry found the karaoke version of the song on iTunes. Two run-throughs was all they had time for, learning the lyrics on Harry’s tablet and memorizing the layout of the song. All three have some jitters, as if they are really on stage, but Harry knows that if he can just get through the first line he’ll be fine.

His head nods and he keeps track of the measures with his hand tapping on his thigh; without a countdown screen he’s got no cues to tell him when to come in. When they practiced he was so anxious that he jumped the gun and they had to start over, but now he knows what to listen for. He hums his first note quietly to make sure he has it, and looks at Liam, who hums it back, yes, that’s the one. Okay. He looks right into the camera, right at Louis out there somewhere, and begins.

“I guess now it’s time for me to give up. I feel it’s time. Got a picture of you beside me, got your lipstick mark still on my coffee cup.”

Alright, good, he’s on pitch and on tempo. Liam and Mayes are quiet for now, just waiting for their part, and he can feel them looking over his shoulders at the tablet. Pretty soon, guys. Harry holds his hand out flat as if to tell them to hang on. This part’s a little high, and he wants to make sure he gets it right.

“Got a fist of pure emotion, got a head of shattered dreams, gotta leave it, gotta leave it all behind now.”

Harry loves this song. It’s a classic his dad used to sing to his mom all the time, and she’d swat at him playfully and shake her head. It’s a boyband song, too, of course, because that’s what Louis and Harry do. They sing boyband songs on Thursday nights. And this one says exactly what Harry needs it to.

“Whatever I said, whatever I did, I didn't mean it,” Harry sings, “I just want you back for good. Whenever I'm wrong just tell me the song and I'll sing it, you'll be right and understood.”

He brings the boys in with a quick flip of his finger, and they begin to sing softly. “Oooh, oooh, want you back, want you back, want you back for good.”

Holy shit, they actually sound good this time around. Harry looks at Liam, shocked that it came together, and Mayes hits Harry in the thigh with the back of his hand. They’re _really doing this_. And they sound … _awesome._

Oh shit, next verse!

Harry stumbles, finding the lyrics too late, but recovers quickly with a little chuckle. “I figured out the story. It wasn’t good. But in the corner of my mind, I celebrated glory.”

Ugh, he can feel his face redden. So much for awesome. Now there’s a little sweat beading out on his forehead but he keeps on, tapping his heel to keep the beat. He looks out at the lens of his phone, imagining he can see Louis out there in his seat at their table.

“In the twist of separation, you excelled at being free. Can’t you find a little room inside for me?”

For a second Harry forgets that he’s in a hotel room. He forgets that he let everyone down today and that his shoulder hurts. All he can see is Louis in that chair, leaning forward like he does when he’s interested in someone. He can see Louis adjusting his glasses, playing with his hair, looking back at him curiously. It’s the same face that watches him from the stands behind the third base line. It’s the one Harry couldn’t bear to leave that night in the pendulum room. And it’s the one he finally got so close to that he could see the little navy flecks in his eyes, just before he screwed everything up and scared him off.

“Whatever I said, whatever I did, I didn’t mean it. I just want you back for good.”

Liam’s voice brings him back. Is he … _ad-libbing_? HIs clean voice rises in harmony with Harry’s, while Mayes sings his backup line. Oh my God … Louis, are you hearing this? Please say you are. Harry knows for sure this is his last chance.

“Whenever I’m wrong, just tell me the song and I’ll sing it, you’ll be right and understood.”

“Want you back, want you back, want you back for good.” Mayes’ voice is getting stronger, more confident. And Liam is doing this light, soft falsetto thing that fits in perfectly. They click into a solid rhythm that takes them through the last chorus, down into the final phrase where the music all but disappears.

Harry wills his voice to be smooth, without any of the raspiness he hates. “I guess, now it’s time that you came back for good.”

“Alright then, Louis,” Harry begins. They never talked about what they would do after the song is over. “Um. So I hope you liked it, and. Hope you have a good night. Okay. So thanks for listening, and um … ”

“Bye, Lou.” Liam says, and Harry is grateful, because it stops his own ridiculous rambling.

“Bye.” Mayes gives the camera a little wave.

Harry turns to the camera one last time and nods with a relieved smile. It’s over. He did it. “Night, Louis.”

Now there’s nothing more to do but wait.

== ♫ ==

Louis hits replay.

During the last four minutes he has moved onto the bed, but he doesn’t remember how he got there. He does remember a gorgeous voice that filled the room, an embarrassed laugh, and a soft goodbye.

The second time Louis watches, he turns the volume all the way up on his phone, and whether Niall can hear it or not, well, screw it. He’s got to hear every measure. Every note. Louis doesn’t breathe as he watches Harry look back to the camera and sing.

The third time, Louis listens with earbuds. He can hear the rasp better that way, and the climb up into the higher notes that seem to strain a little, but bring out the most beautiful, almost raw tone.

The fourth time he brings the phone close to his face so he can see Harry more clearly. It’s Harry, right there. So far away but right here, staring at him, talking to him, singing to him. This time Harry’s apology makes him cringe. No Harry. I’m the one that’s sorry. And this time the point when there are three voices blend actually makes Louis gasp out loud.

The fifth time, Louis laughs with Harry when he misses his line on the second verse, and whispers “it’s okay.”

The sixth time Louis listens to the lyric from start to finish. Harry picked this song, and Harry doesn’t pick songs lightly. It isn’t a song Louis knows, but by now he can sing along, and he does, testing the sound of the words in his mouth. I want you back. Make some room inside for me. I think it’s time.

The last time he finds himself touching Harry’s soft, gray shoulder with his thumb and smiling back at him. It occurs to Louis as they sing that he could have felt those arms around him, if he had just allowed it. He could have even felt what it was like to rest his head on that shoulder. At the library Harry had opened that door in him, the one that Louis has been working hard to keep bolted shut. And now Harry has done it again, from miles away, with just his voice.

He looks at his watch. It’s midnight. But this can’t wait.

He scrambles off the bed. “Niall?” he calls, before he’s even got his bedroom door open. “Niall, are you awake?” He jogs down the hall.

Niall. It’s time.

 == ♫ ==

#### **Saturday**

Harry starts his windup, plants his foot, and _whoosh._ The ball hits Liam’s glove with a smart snap.

He turns to his pitching coach, who is holding the gun. “Nice. Ninety-three. Your head was dragging a little there, make sure you keep your chin still. Again.”

Dammit, he knows better than that.

Harry spins, frustrated, and faces the outfield. Tater and Mayes are out there running sprints with the rest of the infielders, and the outfielders are doing their step-and-pivot drills, fielding high fly balls that look like popcorn. It’s a beautiful Saturday morning and he is back at his favorite place, his home stadium, with the smell of the grass, the plinging sound of baseballs against aluminum bats, the sun on his face, and all of his boys around him. But even so, going back to bed seems like the best idea of all.

He has glanced one too many times up into the stands behind the third base line. All the seats are empty, of course, all except for _that_ seat; Harry can still see Louis sitting in it, smiling out at him and clapping. He smiles back but then catches himself.

No more, Stinger. That’s over and done. He doesn’t want you.

Harry did finally get a response from Louis, Friday morning, when he was still in San Diego.

**Hi.**

**Hi! How are you?**

**When will you be home?**

**Tonight, late. Everything ok?**

**Yeah. Can we get together tomorrow? We should talk.**

**Okay. I have morning practice. Afternoon?**

**I’ll let you know, okay?**

**K. C.u.**

“We should talk.” It’s the kiss of death. Harry’s been on the receiving end of that conversation before, and it didn’t end well.

The writing’s on the wall. Louis is in love with someone else.

Harry had spent the rest of Friday morning moping, checking his phone for Louis’ text. He ignored Liam’s sympathetic _it’ll be alright_ s and _just you wait_ , _he’ll come around_ s. Mayes could tell at warm-up that things were not good, and everybody gave him a wide berth of space in the dugout during the game. The win was enough to snap Harry out of his funk for a bit, and the plane ride home was a loud, festive bash — well, as much of a bash they could have with Pepsi and pretzels and their seatbelts on — but on the bus ride from the airport to campus, he saw the weekend spread out in front of him like a lonely black hole. He had heard nothing further from Louis, and he decided he was not going to text him again, despite the fact that the view count on his “Back for Good” video keeps climbing. As of before practice, it’s up to sixteen views.

Bed is looking more and more attractive by the second. Harry turns back to Liam, half-heartedly considering how he might beg out of practice early.

Liam tips forward to his knees to throw the ball back to him, and Harry raises his glove to snatch the ball out of the air. The smacking sound of impact seems to wake him up. _No_. These boys are counting on him. Top ten. They’ve worked too hard for this, and he’s an asshole if he bows out on them now.

He shakes his shoulders out, and tells himself to get focused. Running through his pitch mechanics chases away the confusion and doubt about Louis. Aggressive kick. Keep hands close. Chin still. Stride through the plate.

The ball feels good in his hand. As Liam gets set Harry strokes his thumb over the stitches, feeling for the curves in the seam. There are no signals, this is just fastball after fastball, so as soon as he sees Liam’s glove go up it’s time to unleash hell.

His windup begins. This time he stays tall, his shoulders are square, and his toe points down on his leg lift. His hands stay close to his body, and his head is still on his neck. But now there is an undercurrent of anger that gives his movement a hot speed; he’s fucking mad at that dickbag cheating musician, mad at Louis for being so fucking blind, and mad at himself for not being able to let him go. With a grunt he throws it all right at the strike zone. The ball hurtles out of his hand like a bullet, finding Liam’s glove right where it sits.

Good. That was ninety-five, at least.

His batting coach looks pleased. “Better. Ninety-six. Again.”

Harry blows the air out of his cheeks and puts his glove up, ready for the throw. But Liam is standing up, taking off his catcher’s mask, looking past Harry to the outfield.

“What’s up, Payno?” Harry hears a click over the loudspeaker followed by a loud screech of feedback as he turns around too.

“Is there a Mr. Harry Styles on the field?”

What the hell? There’s never an announcer at practices. Harry looks up to the booth, only seeing a glare on the glass. Liam is still staring at the outfield, so Harry turns to see. The activity out there looks strange, and it takes Harry a minute to tell why — a group of tall guys are coming through the outfield door, walking right through the players, who stand around staring at them dumbly. Are those groundskeepers? They’re here at the wrong time, and they aren’t even dressed right. They have white Owl baseball t-shirts on, instead of the red polos the staff wear.

“Liam, what’s going on?”

The announcer clears his throat loudly over the speakers. “Is there a Mr. Harry Styles in the stadium?”

Harry finds Mayes among the players, and he looks back at Harry with an amused shrug. Lopez and Burke jog up behind him from the bullpen, and join him on the mound.

“What’s the deal?” Burke asks, and Harry has no idea. Wait. Is this some kind of weird hidden camera thing? Like last year when he won the pitching award and Coach arranged for his family to fly out as a surprise? No, that can’t be it, because Coach doesn’t have a clue what’s going on either; he’s staring up to the booth, perplexed.

“Holy shit, Stinger, look!” Liam points at the outfield door with his glove, where what looks like the horn and drum sections of the marching band are trotting in.

There are a few annoying taps on the mic that pound over the loudspeakers. “Is this thing on? For the last time, is there a Mr. Harry Styles in the stadium?”

“Yes!” Harry, Liam, Burke and Lopez shout at once, Harry raising his arms up with his glove still on.

God, he thinks, that sounded like Niall. What in the actual fuck is going on?

“What in the actual fuck is going on?” Tater asks, jogging up to his side. Mayes is coming in, too, as the strange crowd of trespassers is making their way to the infield. As they get close, Harry can see the drum major jogging out ahead, her blond braids bouncing against her shoulders. Harry thinks she looks familiar, but he can’t place her; she’s not wearing her fancy uniform, but she does have her tall, feather-plumed red and white hat tucked under one arm, and her baton in the other.

“I’ve got no fucking clue,” Harry says, as he watches them line up in front of second base. The scattered baseball players are making their way to the infield as a trombone, sax, tuba, and two flutes group up together on one side and the drums gather on the other, adjusting their sheet music. The tall group of six groundskeepers stand in the center. The guy in the middle opens up a folder, and hands sheet music to the others.

Holy. Shit.

Harry watches the drum major put on her hat with a flourish, and adjust her grip on the baton.

“Payno.” Harry’s heart beats wildly.

“Stinger.”

“What’s happening?”

“Just watch,” Liam answers.

Harry gapes at him, and Liam just crosses his arms and smiles, jerking his chin toward the musical group that has just assembled in front of them.

The voice over the loudspeaker rings out again. “Coach, we’ll have your field back to you in ten minutes, tops.” Holy shit, that _is_ Niall.

Coach cups his hand around his mouth and shouts. “You’d better!” He crosses his arms, but after some nervous chuckles from the team, his gruff scowl turns into a smirk.

“Will do sir. Liv, is the band ready?”

Liv, the drum major, turns and faces the booth and gives him a thumbs up.

“Excellent. Mr. Harry Styles, may I present to you Chatham Crew, backed up by the award-winning Chatham Owl Brass, with members of the Percussion Ensemble. The song they will be performing this morning is titled, ‘I Drive Myself Crazy’ by the incomparable NSYNC. Hit it, Liv.”

Liv raises her baton, and the instruments rise into playing position all at once. Harry’s jaw drops, because all of a sudden it’s clear. Louis did this. Liv raises and lowers her baton in a steady rhythm. Only piccolo and flute play the familiar high notes of the introduction as one member of the crew steps forward.

“Lying in your arms, so close together, didn’t know just what I had. Now I toss and turn, ’cause I’m without you. How I’m missing you so bad.”

Oh my God, ohmyGodGod. When? How did Louis? Did he … ? Where? Harry’s thoughts scatter when two more crew members join in to sing harmony, filling out the layered boyband sound. They look at Harry as they sing.

“Where was my head? Where was my heart? Now I cry, alone in the dark.”

Now a trombone comes in softly, and a bass drum. Crew steps it up a notch, everyone joining in, and the sound is full with different tones.

“I lie awake, I drive myself crazy, drive myself crazy, thinking of you. Made a mistake, when I let you go baby. I drive myself crazy, wanting you the way that I do.”

Oh. My _God_.

The usually rowdy bunch of baseball players are standing absolutely still behind him, listening. The tuba gets ready, along with two sets of drums and a xylophone. Liv keeps time with her baton, and the crew is starting to sway with the music. A member who hasn’t sung before steps to the front.

“I was such a fool, I couldn’t see it, just how good you were to me.” There’s a truth in this singer’s voice, or in his lyric, or both, that goes straight to Harry’s eyes and stings them, and he has to look away for a second. God, Louis. Where are you? “You confessed your love, undying devotion. I confessed my need to be free.”

“And now I’m left with all this pain. I’ve only got myself to blame, noooo … ”

Harry’s eyes are blurry and he swipes at them quickly, looking up past the band and singers to the third base line, but he gets brushed from the back, and it’s Mayes and Tater, stepping out in front to face him. Liam steps away too, from his other side, along with Burke and Lopez. They line up next to the crew, with Liam leading them in a kind of swaying step.

Holy _shit_. “You guys!” Harry lets it slip out loud when they start to sing, and he covers his mouth with his hand.

“I lie awake, I drive myself crazy, drive myself crazy, thinking of you. Made a mistake when I let you go baby … ”

There are now eleven voices singing, in at least three parts, and now the last drum and the sax kick in. The whole band together sounds wonderfully clunky, the way marching band renditions of love songs always sound, but to Harry it’s the sweetest music he’s ever heard. Players behind him start to clap to the beat, and Liv … wait! Harry finally recognizes her. She’s the “Explosions” girl, who sang that sad song that made Louis fidgety in his seat.

Louis. Louis, where …

“Why didn’t I know it?” Liam sings, with the crew crooning _how much I love you baby_ in the background.

“Why didn’t I show it?” sings Mayes, and the crew sings _if I had only told you_.

“When I had the chance … ” Oh my God, Burke too? His voice is simple and smooth, and he tries a run of _ooooh_ s that starts out unsteady but then soars.

All eleven singers are in sync now, swaying and snapping, following Liam’s lead. The band gives them a run for their money, but the boys breathe deeply and give it all they’ve got. How in the hell did they practice? When? Louis must have …

Harry’s eyes dart up to the third base stands, and the sight he sees there makes him suck in his breath.

Louis sits on the edge of his seat, leaning in.

“La la la la la la, la la la la.” The boys harmonize, weaving together tenor and baritone and falsetto. Louis looks at him, just the way he did that first day in Music, which seems like a year ago. They could have a whole conversation with just a look, even from those very first few minutes on that first day.

Today’s no different.

Louis says I’m sorry, I couldn’t, or wouldn’t, or something. But you’re what I want. Please, can you give me one more chance, Harry? Just tell me the song. I’ll sing it.

“I lie awake, I drive myself crazy, drive myself crazy thinking of you.” Harry can see Louis’ lips begin to move along with the lyrics, but he can only imagine the sound of the voice he loves, singing this apology to him. “Made a mistake when I let you go baby, I drive myself crazy, wanting you the way that I do.”

Harry nods and taps his chest. Yes, yes, Louis, I know, it's okay. God, what did you do? How did you … never mind. You’re too far away. Come closer.

It’s perfect. The brass instruments’ notes bump over each other sometimes, the drummers strike an odd beat here and there, and someone sounds pitchy and flat but Harry wouldn't change a thing. He wants this recorded and played on an endless loop, so he can be in this chaos of sound and friends and music and baseball and Louis, always.

Louis stands up.

God _yes_ , Louis, please, come down here, maybe it’s messy and loud but it’s perfect, come on, let’s _do this_.

The chorus repeats and the guys are letting loose, finding new melodies and dance moves, but Harry can only see Louis jogging down the steps to the first row. Harry drops his glove and starts toward him, his eyes brimming up again. He reaches up for his cap and flings it down behind him too. He’s got to, he thinks, he’s got to let me hold him this time, and his arms ache to wrap Louis up tight and close.

He’s, oh my _God_ _Louis_ , he’s vaulting over the wall. Louis lands on his feet in the dirt and he doesn’t stop.

They meet somewhere on the grass, Harry breathless with relief and a few tears, Louis already talking when Harry envelops him.

“Harry, I’m so stupid. I didn’t want to … I didn’t know what to say, and then … when I did, I … didn’t want it to be on the phone, or … something … I … ” Louis’ voice is muffled against Harry’s shoulder and oh, finally, _finally_. He feels solid in Harry’s arms, warm and moving, with his hair pressed against Harry’s cheek and their chests pounding together.

“It’s okay.” Harry inhales the scent of him, presses his arms tighter all around him. “We’re here now.” Louis looks tired, but he is stronger than Harry thought, and his embrace makes Harry feel like all the fluttery anxious parts of him can get heavy and calm. He leans against Louis and lets Louis fall against him, both anchored in place.

“Can we do this?” Louis asks, and turns his face up. “Can we? I want to. I’m sorry.”

Harry feels all the confusion slide away when he meets Louis’ pretty, pleading eyes.

“Yes, yes.” He tilts his head down to Louis, just touching their foreheads together. Uh-oh. “I’m kind of sweaty. And sniffly.”

“I don’t care,” Louis says, and his hands reach up to grasp Harry’s cheeks. “Kiss me, okay?”

Their thighs shift together and apart and together again in a little dance, and Harry takes one of Louis’ hands and brings it down to his chest. “Always.” Louis’ mouth turns up in a little smile and Harry waits, just looking at it for a moment, then presses his lips to just the edge of it. They are dancing to the final, fading sounds of the band and the boys' voices far away, and Louis comes back at him softly, letting his lips glide and press over Harry’s gently. This, this is, _Louis_ , his voice and his heart. Harry tastes him, breathes him in and holds him tight.

“Whoo- hooo!”

“Ow ow owwww!”

Hollers and wolf-whistles and applause float toward them from the infield, but Harry can’t make himself care; Louis’ hand is on his heart, and Louis’ voice is in his ear.

“Let’s stay a little longer,” he whispers to Harry between kisses. The words are a poem and the sound is music. _Adagio._ Harry nods, their noses rubbing together before their lips touch again.

There is a commotion next to them, running footsteps and the clink of metal and wood. They turn at the same time to look, and it’s the band and crew jogging toward the outfield door, waving at them. Harry has to blink because he thinks his weepy eyes might be playing tricks on him. But then it’s clear, and he gasps.

“Louis! Look!”

On the back of the crew’s shirts, emblazoned in Owl red, is his number seventeen and STYLES spread across their shoulders.


	5. Step Five

#### Today’s Chatham Chatter!

We’ve seen these boys sing and dance their way around each other for weeks now at Trackside’s Karaoke Night. It’s quite obvious they’re talented and made for each other, but something’s missing. The crowds have spoken. What they’d really like to see is a _duet._ Get on that, guys, would you? Let’s see what they come up with at nine tonight.

The Chatham Crew would like to thank everyone for their support. Thanks to all who requested singing telegrams, they’ve raised $854.69 toward their trip to Harvard. Until next year, may your oars be swift, may your way be smooth, and may your coxswain always be ready.

Administration requests that anyone who has information about the “grape jelly incident” in South Dining Hall last week come forward. Investigators believe, due to the similarity of the pranks, that they almost certainly are the same perps responsible for last fall’s excellent “chocolate syrup incident.” No reward has been mentioned for the apprehension of the covert condiment culprits.

That on-again, off-again senior power couple we all love to root for? Take heart, Owls, they are reportedly on again, having been seen sharing a Mile-High Banana Cream Pie at Shaffer’s Soda Fountain late Tuesday night. Reports of a tiny spat regarding who would pay the bill are unconfirmed.

 == ♫ ==

#### Thursday Night

“‘Livin’ on a Prayer?’ ‘Wanted Dead or Alive?’ No wait … what’s that one … ” Liam taps the table quickly to help him think.

Mayes snaps his fingers. “I got it. ‘Smells Like Teen Spirit.’ Nirvana. Right?”

“Dude,” Tater says, “he said _classic,_ not _ancient_. It’s gotta be, like, Eminem, or Kanye.”

“ _Dude_. Niall’s not going to get up there and rap.” Mayes argues, but then he reconsiders. “Wait. Are you?”

Niall shakes his head wearily. “Um. No.” He mouths _help me_ to Louis.

Louis didn’t think Trackside could hold any more people than it did last week, but clearly he was wrong. He has already seen all the regulars like Jason, Lon, and Princess, but the hockey team is back, too, spread out like a Viking army against the back wall, and when Harry saw the baseball team arrive, they pushed up a table so they could all squeeze in together. It’s so crowded that they have to lean into the center of the table so they can hear each other over the noise, and though Niall has moved his chair four times to let people get through the aisle, someone bumps him again, and he pitches forward and makes a face.

Liam folds his arms. “Seriously, you can’t just drop a bomb like that and then not tell us what song it is. You’re meaner than you look.”

Harry’s got a hand on his chin and a thoughtful look on his face. “Hey. When Niall said ‘classic’ I think he meant, like, older.” Harry’s eyes get squinty. “Like … the Beatles. Or the Rolling Stones.”

Niall’s eyebrows go up and he sputters, wiping his blushing face of spilled beer.

Harry laughs. “I’m right! You’re gonna sing ‘Imagine,’ aren’t you! I knew it.” Harry turns to Louis. “He’s gonna kill it, I’m telling you.”

Niall regains his composure, raising his hands up like he’s trying to push them away. “Guys. I am _not telling you_.”

Niall did drop a bomb, that he was actually going to get up and sing. But in a jittery moment of bravado he made the mistake of telling them that his song was one of the greatest classics of the twentieth century. He was nervous to begin with, but now the place is full to bursting, and the guys won't let him hear the end of it, throwing guesses at him between every song. If they keep on he’s going to psych himself right out of the bar.

Louis decides to help him. “Easy, guys. We’ll know soon enough.”

Niall raises his beer. “Thanks, Tommo.”

Except Louis can’t resist one more. “But my vote’s on Britney Spears.”

Niall narrows his eyes. “Fuck you.”

Louis laughs and watches Liam. He’s turned around to Liv, who has been tapping him on the shoulder all night. She and her friends are sitting at the table just behind them, and if Louis thought she was flirting before, he’s certain now. Earlier, Liam had an excellent turn, where he crushed “Thinking Out Loud” to the adoring sighs of the many girls in the audience. Even Z was impressed, telling Liam he was a triple threat, “voice, voice, and voice.” Louis wholeheartedly agrees, and evidently Liv does too, because The Fireman moves his seat to be closer to her, and Louis thinks she might faint.

Louis feels a squeeze against his fingers and he looks down to his lap, where Harry’s hand folds over his. Harry bends closer, his face just inches away.

“So,” Harry begins, and he lifts his chin toward Liam and Liv. “What do you think is going on there?”

Louis looks at them for a moment. Her eyes shine, and his smile is gentle and interested. She’s showing him her phone, which they hold together as she points to the screen. “I guess … love bloomed on the baseball field?”

Harry nods. “Well, I hear the baseball field is a very romantic place these days.”

“Oh?” The open, tender look on Harry’s face makes Louis want to sing with him, stand on top of beautiful buildings everywhere with him, and lie down under the covers with him, maybe not in that order. “Who told you that?”

“My boyfriend. He’s … a real romantic. Do you want to hear what he did?”

Louis feels his cheeks get hot. Harry has been repeating the story for days, but Louis will never get tired of the sound of Harry’s voice telling it. “Sure,” Louis says, and traces Harry’s hand with his finger. He can vaguely sense Angela and Nancy slowly making their way through the crowd to the stage, but it seems like that’s happening far away, in another dimension, where there are so many people and loud voices and bright lights. Here with Harry it’s quiet, all intertwined fingers and inside jokes and the warmest, proudest smile.

“He put together this amazing surprise serenade for me.” Harry looks down at their hands and chuckles, like he still can’t believe it. “With singers and instruments and everything. A little concert, really. He made a ton of phone calls. He downloaded and printed sheet music in the middle of the night.”

The music is starting; it's a two-part harmony over a gentle guitar and glittery cymbals that makes Louis take in a breath. The words come floating toward him like clouds. _You love who you love, who you love._

“He FaceTimed my best friend, and swore him to secrecy. He e-mailed and he group chatted. He got _his_ best friend in on it to, pulled strings I didn't even know he had.”

_And I tried to run before, but I’m not running anymore._

Harry is looking into his eyes, and his smile falls away. His words fit in the spaces between the notes.

“He made my dreams come true.”

Louis’ eyes close, because yes, dreams. Dreams and doors and their hands holding each other. Their lips that are touching softly now, and pulling away, and pressing close again. They taste like that wine they shared, a pear and some honey, and Louis wants to taste and taste, drink the whole bottle down.

“I never thanked you.”

“You did,” Louis chuckles softly, without opening his eyes. “Hundred times.”

_You love who you love, who you love._

“Well,” Harry whispers against his cheek. “A hundred and one, then. Thank you.”

== ♫ ==

Angela and Nancy take their bows to rousing applause, and Liam calls across the table. “Hey guys, is that your number?”

Sure enough, six-two-oh is rolling up at the bottom of the list. Louis swallows.

“Yep, that’s it!” Harry says, turning to Louis. His eyebrows crinkle. “Uh oh, you’re nervous?”

When they had picked the song an hour ago, it seemed like the most natural thing in the world. Now, the prospect of singing it to Harry, with Harry, weighs on Louis’ nerves. He flips his hand over, so they are palm to palm. Harry can probably feel the dampness there, and Louis doesn’t see any reason to pretend. “Um, a little?”

Harry looks down at their hands, and pulls his away to wipe them on his jeans. His look is apologetic. “Do you still want to? I mean, there’s still time, we could … ”

Louis cringes, swiping his hands on his own thighs. “No no, Harry, I want to. I’m just … I’ve never sang a real duet. Ever.”

“You sang a duet with me,” Harry says, “just the other day, at home.” Harry quirks his lip, and Louis can tell he’s remembering.

“Home” means Louis’ apartment, where they had stumbled upon the song on Tuesday, when they were doing Music homework on Louis’ couch. They shared earbuds like they do, but when Louis thumbed through his iPod menu, he not-so-accidentally flipped to “Boybands” instead, where “Music of My Heart” was the first song to come up on the shuffle.

 It makes him swallow again, thinking about how they’d listened and kissed and sang and kissed again, marveling at how the lyric seemed written just for them. They had ended up kissing most of the evening away, finally listening to Kenley’s playlist with just enough time to get Harry back to his dorm for curfew.

“I did, didn’t I?” Louis meets his eyes. He’s been singing so long on his own. What if he won’t be able to sing with Harry? What if he lags behind the beat or gets lost in the lyric, or what if he can’t find that voice from last time? “I just want to be … good, you know?”

“I know, all these people … sorry about that … ”

“No, Harry. I don’t care about _them_.”

Harry shrugs, as if he’s just realized something very simple. “Well, I don’t care about them either. So, it’s just you and me, then.”

“You and me. Together.” Louis reaches for his hand, liking the sound of the word.

== ♫ ==

Next up is a buttoned-up brunette Louis guesses is a math professor. She sings “Come to My Window” by Melissa Etheridge, timidly at first, but when she hears “Go Professor Milton!” from the table full of hipster girls, she kicks it into a different gear and finishes strong.

After that is Lon, who sings a sad country tune Louis doesn’t recognize, about cold weather, winding roads and a man who won’t stay. It’s a storytelling song with a twangy guitar and heartbreak at its core, and it makes Louis think about Harry and what will happen in the fall. Louis will be moving to Austin, and Harry will stay at Chatham to play baseball and graduate. Then, hopefully, a year from now, he’ll be drafted. Then, who knows where he’ll be? Where _they_ will be?

Maybe Harry can feel his worry, because he brings Louis’ hand to his lips and kisses it quickly, and gives him a little smile. _All we can do is just be here, now._

 _I’m trying_ , Louis tells him silently. _I’m trying._

Their number finally rolls up, and as they stand the place seems to erupt in cheers.

“We love you, Pumpkin!” someone shouts, and Harry turns and waves.

“Lou, Lou, Lou!” other voices call. Louis looks back and sees a girl holding up a sign. It reads “I SHIP IT” and has a drawing of two singers, one with a baseball cap, and the other in glasses.

Holy shit.

Harry reaches back for Louis’ hand and guides him through the tables to the stage. Faces he’s never seen smile at them as they go, and people are reaching out to touch Harry’s arm or pat him on the back. Louis is glad he’s got Harry to hold on to; the applause is louder than anything than Louis has ever heard, and he’s relieved when they step away from the crowd onto the stage.

Z holds his mic and motions for the crowd to quiet down. They calm reluctantly, peppering _whoo hoo_ s and whistles even as he starts to talk. “I think … they want to hear you sing together.” The chorus of cheers raises up again, and Harry starts to laugh. “Alright, alright alright. What’s is going to be tonight, boys?”

Harry looks at Louis expectantly, and gestures that he should be the one to talk.

Louis takes his mic off the stand, feeling the first beads of sweat pop out on his forehead. “It’s a love song.”

“Well it’s about time,” Z says.

“Whoo hoo!” Liam shouts, and Mayes and Tater whistle over the audience’s applause.

“Let’s get to it. Ready?”

Now that he’s up here with Harry right beside him, Louis wonders how he could have ever done this by himself. “Yes,” they say together.

When Harry pulls his mic out of the stand there is one last whoop from the audience, but the long broad notes of the violin seem to calm the room, and Louis takes a deep breath. He runs over the order of the song in his head, what they decided … he is taking the first verse, Harry the second, or did they decide Harry would start and then do the bridge? Oh shit.

Eight, seven, six.

Harry takes a small step backward, letting Louis be in front. Okay. Their eyes meet and Harry smiles just a bit, with a tiny nod. Four, three, two, _now_.

“You’ll never know what you’ve done for me. What your faith in me has done for my soul.” Harry is looking right back at him, not letting him go. “And you’ll never know the gift you’ve given me. I’ll carry it with me … yeah.”

Harry steps up, his grip light on his mic, “Through the days ahead I’ll think of days before.” He nods to Louis, “you made me hope for something better, and made me reach for something more.”

Louis usually looks down at the floor, or out to an empty chair, but Harry’s eyes are locking him in place. Now they both sing together, Harry with the lower melody, and Louis the higher. The notes come from the pool of heat he feels in his chest, and he lets them soar out to blend with Harry’s.

“You taught me to run, you taught me to fly, helped me to free the me inside.” Louis’ hand trembles a bit as he gestures to Harry, and Harry catches it. “Helped me hear the music of my heart, helped me hear the music of my heart.”

Harry’s shining smile says _Louis, we’re really doing this, aren’t we?_ “You opened my eyes, you opened the door to something I’ve never known before. And your love is the music of my heart.”

Louis remembers now, it’s Harry’s turn, so he retreats, giving Harry to the audience that loves him. He starts the second verse, and Louis hears that tender emotion in his voice, the one that starts out raspy but ends strong and clear. “You were the song that always made me sing. I’m singing this for you.” Harry turns to him, and his gaze makes Louis feel safe, like the sun is shining on him again. “Everywhere I go, I’ll think of where I’ve been. And you’re the one who knew me better than anyone ever will again.”

They push and pull, give and take, breathing together and feeling through the notes together. Louis feels like they are connected, measure to measure, picking up where the other leaves off.

When they get to the bridge the key changes, and Harry moves in closer. “What you taught me, only your love could ever teach me.”

Louis steps toward him too. “You got through when no one else could reach me.”

Here comes the highest note of the song, and Louis takes a strong breath, looking in Harry’s eyes. Together they sing, “’Cause you saw in me all the best that I could be. It was you who set me free.”

Harry grins at him, job well done,  Harry takes him by the hand and guides him so they’re facing the audience. It’s the first time Louis has noticed there is actually a crowd out there, and as they continue to sing he can see them on their feet, some waving their arms overhead. He looks for Liam and Niall, who stand and sway, and he can see Lon and even the hockey team are standing.

It doesn’t matter. The only person he wants to see is right here next to him, holding his hand. They face each other again, for the last chorus, and the tempo slows to a sweet fade. “You opened my eyes, you opened the door, to something I’d never known before." Louis holds Harry’s gaze, steady and solid as the thunderous wave of applause and rolls over them. They did it, together.

“Lou and Pumpkin everyone!” Z’s voice can barely be heard over the cheering and whistling of the crowd. They may as well be miles away; what Louis cares about is right here with him. He couldn’t look away if he tried.

== ♫ ==

After Princess’ rousing audience-participation version of X Ambassadors’ “Renegades,” it’s finally Niall’s turn.

 “Alright Nialler!” Liam claps encouragingly. “Now or never, buddy!”

“Oh fuck,” Niall says, and slowly gets up. As he walks to the stage people clap for him the way they clap for a newbie, politely, but Louis can feel their interest build when Z starts to speak.

“Niall. Bro.” Z says. There is a lilting sweetness in his voice that draws light laughter and a whistle from the crowd.

Niall steps up closer to the mic and touches it tentatively. “Yes?” He steps back, and people chuckle.

“Question for you. You have sat in the same chair at the same table with Lou for what, four months now?”

Niall steps up again, and speaks carefully into the mic as if it might grow teeth and bite him. “Yes.”

“And you’ve never sang for us before.”

“That’s right.”

Louis brings his hands to his mouth. Shit. This must be what it’s like when you watch your kid play the lead in the Christmas musical. Louis’ stomach is fluttering for him; he wants to rush up there and give him a hug.

“So what made you change your mind?”

Niall shrugs, and glances quickly to the boys at the table. “Well, I think I finally found the right song.”

“Aww,” the crowd coos.

“Agreed.” Z says, and gives him a rare smile. “Here we go, you ready?”

Niall takes a big breath and adjusts his stance near the mic, but doesn’t hold it in his hand. He nods to Z, stretching his hands down into the pockets of his jeans.

“Here we go,” says Harry nervously. He pinches his lip with one free hand, and grabs for Louis’ with the other. Louis looks at Harry’s hand and intertwines their fingers. They are in this together, too.

As Niall watches the countdown, Louis feels itchy and on alert. Everything is in slow motion. Something's about to happen. Something big. Louis braces himself for a big sound, a storm of electric guitars and pounding drums.

But when Niall’s greatest classic begins, it sounds like a gentle sunshower. The twinkling, folky sound of a solo guitar’s melody makes the entire room gasp. If Niall notices he doesn’t show it, his eyes focused on a patch of floor somewhere in front of him. His head nods to the lively, familiar beat.

Oh. My God.

Harry turns to look at Louis. His smile glows, and he opens his mouth like he’ll say something, but he just shakes his head and looks back to Niall. Louis feels Harry’s thumb stroke the top of his hand.

“Here comes the sun, doo do do doo. Here comes the sun, and I say, it’s all right.”

Liam whoops and claps over the familiar guitar and drum riff that kicks in, which makes Niall smile. He lifts his head and looks out into the crowd.

“Little darlin’, it’s been a long cold lonely winter. Little darlin’, it feels like years since it’s been here. Here comes the sun, doo do do doo. Here comes the sun, and I say it’s alright.”

Niall’s doing it. He’s actually _singing_. That’s _Nialler_ up there, who has cheered him on for months from his corner seat. Louis hears a soft _holy shit_ that must be from Liam, and damn right holy shit, because Louis is hearing something he’s never heard before but is utterly and strikingly familiar. It’s his best friend’s voice, only not. His voice is Niall’s, but it’s … full, and gravelly in places, and … damn, it’s strong, like arms that won’t ever drop you. Of course it is. _Of course._ Louis shakes his head a little, wondering how he didn’t know all along.

“Little darlin’, the smiles returning to the faces. Little darlin,’ it seems like years since it’s been here.”

“C’mere,” Harry says, and he lets go of Louis’ hand to put his arm around him, pulling him close. This space is just right for Louis’ shoulder to tuck underneath, and Louis leans back and lets go.

Niall is swaying a little now, getting comfortable and settling in, and Louis does the same. He can feel the rise and fall of Harry’s beside him, and he lets himself sink into the rhythm. _It’s alright._

Harry’s whisper tickles his ear. “This. Is the perfect. Song.”

From here the song is coming at Louis in some kind of exquisite stereo. In his right ear is Liam’s rich baritone, solid like a foundation underneath them, and Niall’s new, heavy tenor sings out over the top of it all, all the inhibition gone, riding on the wave of the simple melody. Louis can both hear and feel Harry’s notes on his left, rumbly tones that somehow sound like a bass humming inside his chest that vibrate against his skin. Louis starts to sing with them and it’s as if the last block clicks together in a design they’ve been working on for weeks.

Harry can hear it too, because he looks at Louis with a beaming smile as the instrumental picks up. Liam leans back in his chair, closing his eyes, singing the words with feeling.

“Sun, sun, sun, here it comes.”

The girls behind Liam are standing, and so are Angela and Nancy, Princess, and Lon across the way.

“Sun, sun, sun, here it comes.”

Niall’s smile is disbelieving as he looks from one table to the next, watching them all stand for him and sing.

It’s going to be alright. Louis doesn’t know what will happen, can’t see plainly like a blueprint spread out on his desk at Bond.

“Sun, sun, sun, here it comes.”

Louis looks around at the boys at his table, at the singing crowd, at Z, standing there with his arms crossed, pleased; it's as if they all know. It's as if they feel it too.

“Sun, sun, sun, here it comes.”

But right now is enough. He slips his arm around Harry’s waist. Harry looks down to him, and Louis strokes his dimple with his thumb. The kiss feels like a promise, and tastes like a wish. Please, Harry, let’s stay a little longer.

“Little darlin’, I feel that ice is slowly melting. Little darlin’, it seems like years since it’s been clear. Here comes the sun, here comes the sun, and I say it’s alright.”

The cheers throw Niall back a little, and he shakes his head, his face blushing an endearing shade of red.

Z’s voice rings out over the applause. “Well now, Sunshine. I’d say that was worth the wait, wasn’t it?”

And now Niall starts to clap himself, and points at their table. Louis and Harry laugh and pull apart to join Liam in whooping. They give each other high fives and fist bumps.

Yes, Louis thinks.

 It was worth every minute.

== ♫ ==

#### Today’s Chatham Chatter! (Graduation Edition!)

Congratulations to the Chatham Owls, who will go to Omaha in June to compete in the College World Series for the third straight year. A limited number of tickets will be available to students at the Athletic Office. Good luck, boys!

The final Arts & Letters Poetry Slam will be held at Talon Theater on Saturday night. Twenty-five three minute poems will be performed and judged by a panel of campus celebrities. Remember, poets may not use props, costumes or musical instruments while slamming! Winner gets a “The Point is Poetry” t-shirt, a gift certificate from our sponsor, Rubio’s Italian Restaurant, and bragging rights for the entire summer.

And one last note, Chatham Owls. It is time for me to say goodbye. The time has come for me to graduate and move on down the road paved with newsprint and good intentions. I’ll be passing the torch now, and putting my journalism degree to good use in Chicago, Illinois, at _The Sun-Times_. Hoot Hoot, Owls, until we meet again.

—Niall J. Horan, class of ’16

 

**Author's Note:**

> Follow the link within the text, or [here, for Harry's Boyband playlist on Spotify.](https://open.spotify.com/user/hesowls/playlist/0HDzm5BgpByjnado3BHFdG) All of his other playlists are there as well, including one called ["Trackside,"](https://open.spotify.com/user/hesowls/playlist/1fftjbCFQPiGVBh0ViLjPB) which contains all the songs from the karaoke scenes, and one of songs that remind him of [Louis.](https://open.spotify.com/user/hesowls/playlist/66637EkYfTCN5YzeQBBFXW)
> 
> For more information on Foucault Pendulums, [go here.](http://www.telegraph.co.uk/technology/google/google-doodle/10317223/What-is-Foucaults-Pendulum.html)
> 
> Please check out the lovely twopoppies' drawing of [ baseball!Harry!](http://twopoppies.tumblr.com/post/147265565151/he-watches-as-harry-jogs-onto-the-field-with-the.html)
> 
> And thought you might enjoy some dancing to [James Bay's "Move Together" (cover).](https://youtu.be/QJJZ9Ym6ekc)


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